The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art 3770559134, 9783770559138

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THE MEDITERRANEAN FOUNDATIONS OF ANCIENT ART

MITTELMEERSTUDIEN

Herausgegeben von

Mihran Dabag, Dieter Haller, Nikolas Jaspert und Achim Lichtenberger

BAND 4

Guido Freiherr von Kaschnitz-Weinberg

THE MEDITERRANEAN FOUNDATIONS OF ANCIENT ART Translated and edited by John R. Clarke

Wilhelm Fink | Ferdinand Schöningh

Titelillustration: “The Temple of the Sphinx.” Giza

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.d-nb.de abrufbar.

Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Dieses Werk sowie einzelne Teile desselben sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung in anderen als den gesetzlich zugelassenen Fällen ist ohne vorherige schriftliche Zustimmung des Verlags nicht zulässig. © 2015 Ferdinand Schöningh, Paderborn (Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh GmbH & Co. KG, Jühenplatz 1, D-33098 Paderborn) Internet: www.fink.de | www.schoeningh.de Einbandgestaltung: Evelyn Ziegler, München Printed in Germany Herstellung: Ferdinand Schöningh GmbH & Co. KG, Paderborn ISBN 978-3-7705-5913-8 (Fink) ISBN 978-3-506-77919-9 (Schöningh)

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements (John R. Clarke) 7 Notes on the Translation 9 Chronology 11 Introduction 15 The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art (Guido Freiherr von Kaschnitz-Weinberg) 25 Notes 91 Bibliography 107 Illustrations 115

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

( John R. Clarke)

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y interest in Guido Freiherr von Kaschnitz-Weinberg began long ago during my graduate years at Yale, where several of my instructors— most notably Sheldon Nodelman—introduced me to Kaschnitz and other illustrious scholars of the Vienna School of Structural Analysis. Grants from the Research Institute of the University of Texas allowed me the time to pursue this translation, to travel to libraries to investigate Kaschnitz’s sources, and to write the introductory essay. Three scholars have helped me in this long project. Many years ago, John W. Dixon, Jr., Professor of Art History at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, shared drafts of his translations of two other essays by Kaschnitz. Sigrid Knudsen’s comments on this draft were of great help. The late Eleanor Greenhill, Professor Emerita of the History of Art at the University of Texas, kindly read my translation and offered invaluable suggestions. Any remaining errors are mine alone; I hope they are few and will not distract the reader from this important essay. Last but not least, I am grateful to my lamented partner, Michael Larvey, for his sustained interest in this project and for his constant support.

NOTES ON THE TRANSLATION

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ranslating this short essay by Kaschnitz has proven a long and difficult task. His language is complex, frequently employing idiosyncratic syntax and word usages. Both Helga von Heintze and Peter H. von Blanckenhagen, who personally worked with Kaschnitz and edited his collected writings, comment on the difficulty of his writing for the German reader. Kaschnitz’s sentences tend to be long and periodic. He often pushes the meanings of German words to serve his highly-original thoughts, and his thinking, condensed and concentrated from many years of working with the monuments and their meanings, leaps from peak to peak in dense and headlong prose. I have attempted to adhere closely to Kaschnitz’s style and vocabulary; in this sense it is a precise rather than free translation. Translating Kaschnitz really requires that one live with his ideas over a long period. Over the years I have been able to try them out on my graduate students both at Yale University and the University of Texas; their readings of my interim translations have stimulated me to find better ways of communicating Kaschnitz’s ideas and methodology. I have been able to correct several mistakes in the notes and illustrations, mostly citations of pages and illustration numbers. Kaschnitz did not provide numbered notes for The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art. Instead, he collected references at the end of the essay labeled by key phrases, such as “TaurianIranian Culture,” grouping them according to the page numbers in the text. I have reconstructed 122 notes, numbered sequentially, from the same number of Kaschnitz’s references; I have also retained his key phrases. In most cases my endnotes follow the order of Kaschnitz’s references; when they do not, the logic of my rearrangement should be clear to the reader. In order to aid the reader wishing to explore Kaschnitz’s documentation, I have expanded his highly-compressed references, providing the full citation at first reference, and subsequently replacing the abbreviations op. cit. and loc. cit. with short titles. I have also com-

piled a full bibliography including all of Kaschnitz’s citations plus the works I cite in my Introduction. However, I have not updated Kaschnitz’s notes. The new studies of the individual monuments and sites will be familiar to the scholar and will be easily located by the non-specialist. Nor have I composed a current bibliography for areas like prehistoric religion, primitive psychology, or the psychology of spatial perception, since this would constitute another book.The purpose of this translation is not to re-evaluate Kaschnitz’s essay in the light of current knowledge but rather to give the reader the opportunity to explore Kaschnitz’s thought and methodology as he presented them in 1944.

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CHRONOLOGY

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he following chronology is based on the biography of Kaschnitz published by his wife, Marie Luise Kaschnitz, in Helga von Heintze and P. H. von Blanckenhagen, eds., Ausgewählte Schriften; Kleine Schriften zur Struktur (Berlin, 1965), 3: 228-39. The lists of friends and colleagues mentioned by Mrs. Kaschnitz give the reader a sense of how important these contacts were to the couple and in what intellectual and cultural pursuits they found pleasure and stimulus. 1890 1907 1908 1910-13

1913

January 28, Vienna. Guido Kaschnitz von Weinberg born, second child of August Kaschnitz von Weinberg and Emma Perko. Publishes first paper,Vienna. Begins the study of Classical Archaeology in Vienna, with concentration on the art history of the Mediterranean area. Works in Austrian excavations in Dalmatia; visits Greece, North Africa, and Egypt. Follows lectures of Max Dvorak and Hans Tietze, later Julius von Schlosser. Develops an interest in nineteenth and twentieth-century art, reading Dostoevsky and Trakl, studying the works of Kokoschka, Klimt, Klinger, Schiele, Egger-Lienz, Mestrovic, Schnitzler, Munch; also Cézanne, van Gogh, Hodler, Rodin, and Puvis de Chavannes, as well as the architecture of Loos and Wagner. Active in political discussion, favors a socialist monarchy for Austria. “Griechische Vasenmalerei der klassischen Zeit” wins an archaeological stipend for Greece and Asia Minor. Travels to Egypt, Ithaca, and the Austrian Archaeological Institute, Athens; German archaeologist Doerpfeld names him assistant at excavations at the Dipylon cemetery. Soldier in Austrian infantry regiment.

1917 1918 1919-23 1923-27

1927-30

1926 1927 1929 1932 1932-36

In campaigns against Russia and Italy; develops deep aversion for war. Works with Austrian art protection group in Veneto; studies stucco decoration of Santa Maria della Valle. Works in Munich for publisher; develops his interests in theater; translates comedies by Goldoni; follows painters of “Die Brücke.” Called to the German Archaeological Institute in Rome, becoming director Amelung’s first assistant; marries Marie Luise von Holzing-Berstett (born Karlsruhe 1901) in December, 1925; friends include Axel Boethius, Hans Mobius, Werner Technau, Elisabeth Jastrow, Rudi and Margot Wittkower, Harald Keller, Paolino Mingazzini, Paola Zancani Montuoro, Doro Levi, Hans Peter L’Orange, Lars Gosta Saeflund, Enrico Josi, Ranuccio Bianchi-Bandinelli. Scholarly exchange with Theodor Hetzer at the Hertziana, Karl Lehmann-Hartleben (then working on the Column of Trajan), Friedrich Matz, and Ludwig Curtius. Works on late Roman portraits. Studies Riegl and Coellen, Der Stil in der bildenden Kunst. Rome, daughter Iris Costanza born; Kaschnitz completes catalogue of the sculpture in the storerooms of the Vatican Museums begun by Amelung. “Studien zur etruskischen und frühromischen Porträtkunst.” “Spätromische Porträts.” Review of Riegl, Spätrömische Kunstindustrie. Habilitation in Freiburg; Habilitationsschrift: “Die Struktur in der griechischen Plastik;” first lectures. Königsberg, writes “Bemerkungen zur Struktur der altitalienschen Plastik,” foundation for his structural history of the Mediterranean, then “Bemerkungen zur Struktur der ägyptischen Plastik,” “Zur Struktur der griechischen Kunst,” and “Marcus Antonius, Domitian, Christus.” Königsberg colleagues include Wilhelm Worringer, Walter F. Otto; Assistants Reinhard Lullies and Gerhard Kleiner protected him politically. Nazi firings at the University. Kaschnitz and wife spent holidays in North Africa, Greece, Rome, Naples, Hungary and Yugoslavia, always returning to Ludwig and Edith Curtius in Rome. Armin von Gerkan becomes second director of the German Archaeological Institute in Rome.

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1937-40

1940-45

1946-52

1953

Marburg: takes chair of von Jacobsthal. Kaschnitz’s circle includes the theologians Bultmann, Kurt Steinmeyer, and the philosophers Ebbinghaus, Krüger, and Gadamer. P. H. von Blanckenhagen’s interest in Kaschnitz’s research proves productive. Frankfurt-am-Main: Johann Wolfgang Goethe Universität; in Frobenius-Institut found documentation of cave and rock drawings going back to the Old Stone Age. Blanckenhagen often visits; Wolfgang Preiser shows untiring interest in structural history. “Vergleichende Studien zur italisch-römischen Struktur” “Über den Begriff des Mittelmeerischen in der vorchristlichen Kunst” “Die mittelmeerischen Grundlagen der antiken Kunst” “Von der zweifachen Wurzel der statuarischen Form in Altertum” Kaschnitz flees to Kronberg-im-Taunus; students come there to work. In last months of war drafted into People’s Watch, but health puts him in sanatorium in Königstein. When the Americans occupy it, Kaschnitz and wife go to her parents’ in Bollschweil. Return to Frankfurt. New seminar rooms constructed; new assistant Ernst Homann-Wedeking. “Ägyptische und griechische Plastik, Versuch einer Strukturvergleichung” “Über die Grundformen der italisch-römischen Struktur II” “Die ungleichen Zwillinge” “Über die Rationalisierung der mythischen Form in der klassischen Kunst” Kaschnitz works on an international union of Roman archaeological institutes; refuses offer to teach at the University of Vienna, but takes full-year leave there. Visits with his brothers, cave researcher Rudolf Saar, art historian Leopold Zahn, and Otto Zoff. Colleagues in Frankfurt include Reinhardt, Gelzer and Keller, Vossler, Böhm, Hartner, Horkheimer, Adorno, Beutler, O’Daniel, Leontowitsch. Gerhard Bersu heads Roman-German Commission; Kaschnitz becomes curator of the Frobenius-Institut; Otto von Simson, Ludwig Bachofer, Helena Gamer, Eduard Maser return from Chicago. Named director of German Archaeological Institute in Rome, opening it after war; Vice-director Rudolf Naumann, first assistant Bernhard Neutsch.

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1955 1956 1957

Friends in Rome: Ludwig Curtius, Hermine Speier, Filippo Magi (Vatican Museums). Kaschnitz is made fellow of the Accademia dei Lincei. “Bildnisse Friedrichs II. von Hohenstaufen” “Das Kultbild der Juno Sospita in Lanuvium” Works with Helga von Heintze to collect material for the structural history of ancient architecture. Kaschnitz is 65; plans year-long trip to Turkey, Greece, and Egypt. Visits London and British Museum; falls ill and has brain operation in Vienna; must relearn to speak and read. Frankfurt, studies photographs of archaic and classical Greek sculpture; organizes a year-round session with friends, reading Goethe, Shakespeare, Walter Benjamin, Sartre, Beckett. September 1. Kaschnitz dies at 68 years of age.

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INTRODUCTION

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he School of Structural Analysis, or Strukturforschung, dominated the 1920s in Vienna.1 Of the many essays laying out the premises of Structural Analysis,2 Guido Kaschnitz’s Introduction to his posthumouslypublished Mediterranean Art: An Account of its Structure presents the clearest overview of the background, procedure, and objectives of this approach.3 Structural Analysis, he says, is not another, more rigorous form of formal analysis, but a hermeneutic that goes beyond the external appearances of individual works of art to uncover culturally-determined habits of conceiving and forming spaces and images. Structural Analysis is concerned with what goes on before the work takes on its external appearance, before it gets its “style.” Kaschnitz’s Structural Analysis is not a closed theory or system; it includes the study of the whole culture in which the works of art are embedded. He proposes that all sources that shed light on that culture illuminate the structure of its art: studies of its society, economics, religion, psychology, and literature. Like Deconstruction, Structural Analysis is dynamic, being in constant need of revision. It avoids a priori evolutionary schemes. In light of Kaschnitz’s statements, it is difficult to see how the art historical methodologies of the last thirty years have advanced art history beyond the goals—at least envisioned, if not achieved—by Kaschnitz and the Structuralists. For this reason more than any other, it is time to take a fresh look at the background, methodology, and above all the practice of Structural Analysis. There is no better place to begin than with Kaschnitz’s The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art. Structural Analysis grew from the formal approaches of Heinrich Wölfflin and Alois Riegl. Working at the turn of the century, they opposed the positivist, empirical approaches then in vogue, which aspired to a mechanistic, developmental history of art.4 Wölfflin’s well-known formal-comparative method, in which he applied opposing analytic terms, such as linear vs. painterly, closed vs. open form, etc., to explain the changes from the art of the High Renaissance to

that of the Baroque, implied an oscillating evolution of forms. Wölfflin’s model, more advanced than the biological metaphors of the nineteenth century which posited stages in the “growth” of art from the archaic to the classic to the postclassic or “decadent,” was nevertheless limited in its application precisely because it worked best with High Renaissance and Baroque art and because it relied so heavily on superficial stylistic characteristics. Riegl’s formalism began in the attempt to explain and defend late Roman art (from Constantine to Charlemagne). Its frontality, hierarchical scale, axiality, lack of perspective, and abrupt separation of figure from ground, especially in painting and relief sculpture, had been dismissed as failed attempts to recreate Hellenistic forms. By employing the paired opposites of tactile vs. optical forms, but in an evolutionary scheme over time, Riegl sought to demonstrate that the abstraction of late Roman art, rather than being inept and decadent, was consciously willed. Late Roman art broke with the ratonial conventions of Hellenistic art to express the spiritual and the otherworldly. Essential to Riegl’s methodology is the notion of Kunstwollen. Translated as “formative will,” “will to artistic form,” or “stylistic intent,” Kunstwollen makes art forms at any time in history a matter of choice.5 This choice, however, is not individual but rather supraindavidual; shared cultural desires rather than individual artistic discovery propel Riegl’s Kunstwollen in a development from the tactile to the optical. Riegl established a causal relation between the tactile and the dominance of the close view in contrast to the optical and the inclination to a distant view.6 Riegl’s Die Spätrömische Kunstindustrie traced this development in relief sculpture and painting, noting how the isolation of forms in space, the sharp contrast of light and dark, and avoidance of modeled edges characteristic of late Roman art increased the optical reading of imagery and represented the formation of the new visual language of Byzantine and Early Medieval art. Riegl’s polar, formal approach was particularly important for Kaschnitz. Kaschnitz’s long review of the new edition of Die Spätrömische Kunstindustrie represents his coming to terms with the advantages and pitfalls of Riegl’s methodology;7 he places Riegl in the broader context of Structural Analysis in his Introduction to Mediterranean Art.8 Whereas all the Structuralists were aware of Riegl, his approach was of special importance to Kaschnitz because he, like Riegl, concerned himself almost entirely with the art of the ancient Mediterranean. The most noted Structuralists were Theodor Hetzer, Hans Sedlmayr, and Kaschnitz. Hetzer was occupied with the history of art from the thirteenth to the eighteenth century. He wrote books

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and essays on Giotto, Dürer, Rubens, Rembrandt, and Titian.9 Sedlmayr worked primarily on architecture from the medieval period through the Baroque. His most famous book is perhaps his psychological study of Borromini’s architecture;10 he also wrote an important polemical essay defining the goals of Structural Analysis.11 Kaschnitz, like Riegl, studied art with scanty historical materials, and with no written history at all. But unlike Riegl, who died prematurely and had little opportunity to refine his methodology, Kaschnitz’s vast body of scholarship provides, more than the other Structuralists, a full and intellectually demanding vision of the accomplishments and shortcomings of the structuralanalytic method. And The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art, written at the height of his career, is perhaps Kaschnitz’s most engaging and convincing work. Kaschnitz accepts Riegl’s idea of a supraindividual will to artistic form that belongs collectively to a group and results in a style. A good example of Kaschnitz’s methodology is his treatment of sculpture in pre-Imperial Italy, discussed by Otto Brendel in his well-known essay, “Prolegomena to a Book on Roman Art.”12 Kaschnitz posited two opposing tendencies in Italic sculpture that formed the foundation for the articulation of the surfaces. One tendency couples an underlying cubic structure or armature with a realistic representation of surface features (e.g., the Capitoline Brutus). Kaschnitz called this structure “static,” in contradistinction to “dynamic” works having spheric underlying structures with surfaces characterized by abstraction and pseudo-plastic forms (e.g., the Apollo from Veii). The goal of Kaschnitz’s and other Structuralists’ search for deep structures was to uncover the mechanics of form applied consistently within a culture. If Kaschnitz’s structural analysis of the pre-Imperial art of the Italian peninsula articulated for the first time in visually-verifiable terms two opposing tendencies operating at the same time, his hypothesis that these polar structures went back to Italic prehistory tied them to specific geographical locations. Kaschnitz’s cubic, stereometric structure appeared in early Iron Age Italy with the Villanovan culture of Etruria, whereas the spheric-dynamic structure characterized the vases in the fossa or inhumation tombs of the area around Rome. Since in Rome itself the fossa culture conquered an earlier culture that cremated its dead and employed static-linear ornamentation, Kaschnitz believed that the structural dualism apparent in Roman art of the historical period had its roots in the merging of two opposing cultures in pre-historic Rome. How can Kaschnitz’s hypothesis of abiding structural duality localized in Rome over a millennium be proved? It cannot, particularly since the means for transmitting these formal structures cannot be known. Because Kaschnitz ac-

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cepts Riegl’s idea of the artistic will-to-form, it is enough to characterize the structures themselves. But unlike Riegl, whose scheme is frankly evolutionary, Kaschnitz sees both early and late works of art (e.g., the Villanovan ceramics and the Capitoline Brutus) as structurally similar. By dispensing with style periods, Kaschnitz underscores the geographical endurance of structure over style. In the central Italian region two opposed structures will always occur, no matter how sophisticated the overlay: whether it be Hellenistic, neoclassical, or archaistic. As Brendel explains, “The styles, regional with Kaschnitz, are each dominated by a permanent psychological disposition. So the character of Roman art was predetermined by the two elemental trends which together formed its Italic foundation. Accordingly, in this theory Roman art exhibits a dual nature instead of one single dominant: it possesses two souls instead of one.”13 In The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art Kaschnitz pulls back from this regional hypothesis to take a longer view. Rather than dealing with the dual nature of a single phenomenon, genre, and place, i.e., sculpture in Italy, he examines the spatial character of Roman architecture in contradistinction to the solid character of the Greek. Starting with the contrast between two historic buildings, the so-called Temple of Poseidon at Paestum and the Pantheon, Kaschnitz investigates prehistoric Mediterranean cultures for similar dualities in spatial conception. He finds that Greek sacred architecture—and by extension Greek sculpture—has its roots in the worship of the vertical columnar monument standing for the dead male ancestor-hero and his fertility. Roman architecture stems from an earlier worship of the Earth Mother in underground cave sanctuaries identified with female fertility and the womb.The contrasting spatial conceptions and the architecture that expressed them extend from prehistory into Greek and Roman civilization. Habits of primitive worship embedded these spatial conceptions in the consciousness of the peoples who eventually became the historic Greeks and Romans: these unconscious habits of making forms (Kaschnitz’s Formungswillen or “formative will”) appear in rationalized form as the Greek and Roman temple.14 Through this hypothesis Kaschnitz investigates a much larger problem than the static vs. dynamic in Roman sculpture; his hypothesis brings to the fore a greater duality in the ancient Mediterranean and in so doing ask a longstanding, fundamental question: Is there a psychology of architectural form? His affirmative answer and the methodology of his proofs give The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art a relevance today that his other essays lack. What is the place of The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art in the history of art? The noted archaeologist Glyn Daniel once remarked that around 1940

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every scholar of the ancient western world had a theory mapping the transmission of the tumulus from Pergamon to Carrowkeel.15 By 1950, archaeology had dismissed these attempts to link parallel forms by means of a synthetic theory of prehistoric culture. The post-war focus returned to regional monographic studies of individual sites; the maps claiming to chart the spread of cultures in the ancient world through artifacts and building forms all but disappeared. In most cases little was lost in this return to the business of archaeology, since the studies that purported to be purely archaeological lacked the broad perspective provided by studies of prehistoric and ancient religion, primitive psychology, cultural history, and ancient literature. As a Structuralist, Kaschnitz embraced these external perspectives; his profound study and judicious application of the findings of non-archaeological disciplines makes The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art the best touchstone of the intellectual climate of interdisciplinary studies between the world wars. Because The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art synthesizes several decades of Kaschnitz’s research, it is the richest of his essays. Written during the darkest days of World War II, it was originally presented as a lecture given in the spring of 1943 to several cultural societies. Two essays treating themes found in The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art in greater detail appeared in 1944: “Über den Begriff des Mittelmeerischen in der vorchristlichen Kunst” (“On the Concept of the Mediterranean in Pre-Christian Art”)16 and “Vergleichende Studien zur italisch-römischen Struktur” (“Comparative Studies of Italic-Roman Structure”).17 Because The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art was originally a lecture, ideas are compressed; hence, Kaschnitz avoids elaborating connections between one concept and another in the interest of clarity and simplicity. But if the text is abbreviated and synoptic, his notes are wide-ranging and didactic. Of Kaschnitz’s one hundred twenty-two references in The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art, seventy-four cite studies of both prehistoric and historic religion. This contrasts tellingly with about twenty-five citations of archaeological reports. References to psychological studies reinforce those on religion, twelve citing research on primitive psychology (Völkerpsychologie). Kaschnitz’s enterprise in The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art was to link, on the one hand, the forms of the upright marker-monument with phallic ancestor worship and, on the other hand, the cave-like, enveloping space with the worship of the Earth Mother in her womb. His approach depended on defining as closely as possible the religious belief systems of prehistoric people. Several complementary approaches characterize the supporting literature which he cites. Comparative ethnological studies such as those of Lévy-Bruhl began

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with the known beliefs of modern primitives in an attempt to characterize the “primitive soul.”18 The assumption of such studies, that groups of people at the same level of development—despite their geographical location—have similar beliefs and parallel cosmologies, was later taken up and to a certain degree validated by the structural anthropology of Lévi-Strauss. In Kaschnitz’s notes on the phallic monument as residence of the generative power of the male ancestor, for instance, he turns to evidence from primitive societies of South Pacific islanders and African tribes to show how this belief operates. Thematic histories of prehistoric religion, like Dieterich’s Mutter Erde (Mother Earth),19 Sarasin’s Helios und Keraunos oder Gott und Geist (Helios and Keraunos or God and Spirit),20 Beer’s Die Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten (The Worship of Stones among the Israelites),21 and Eisler’s Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt (Mantle of the World and Vault of Heaven),22 took a different tack. Beginning with primarily material evidence of prehistory and late texts that seemed to reflect ancient customs, rituals, and belief systems, they attempted to reconstruct prehistoric religion. Studies of historical religions, like those of Nilsson and Altheim, were on firmer ground, since they could rely on evidence of texts and inscriptions in addition to the visual evidence of painting, sculpture, and architecture, but these too speculated on the prehistoric origins of Greek and Roman religion. Finally, several studies of individual sites and monuments expanded and corroborated Kaschnitz’s hypothesis about the polar origins of Mediterranean religion: Mayr on the Megalithic Malta, Evans’s publications on Knossos, and Curtius’s study of a phallic tomb monument in the Smyrna Museum. Kaschnitz’s ideas were not new. Evidence from individual sites abounded, but was scattered, awaiting synthesis. He could quote Koerte’s article of 1899, called “Studies in Asia Minor,” to obvious advantage in his note on the phallus in the vaulted building: “It can be observed again and again that what is placed on the grave is that which originally belonged inside.”23 Maurer’s observation, that “the pillar is nothing other than the penis erectus,”24 both accurately characterized the phallic grave marker and expressed an idea current at the time. Kaschnitz masterfully marshals evidence from the historical literature in support of his theory about the polar origins of Mediterranean form. His working hypothesis is that because the structures of both ancestor- and mother-worship were really enduring psychological tendencies, they surfaced in the historic period in often shocking, “primitive” forms—even when the clear phallic or womb-like essence of prehistoric religion was quite forgotten. He cites the phallic origin of Hermes, the Greek god of the crossroads who was also the center post holding up the house. Kaschnitz quotes Plutarch’s description of the monument to the Dio-

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scuri, consisting of two poles bound together by a horizontal beam, and Pausanias, who as a second-century traveler described frankly phallic representations of Eros and Zeus Meilichios. He turns to the church fathers Arnobius and Clement of Alexandria for the obscene myth of Dionysos and Prosymnos which accounted for both the phallic worship of Dionysos and the use of phalli in his cult. Kaschnitz’s demonstrations of how belief and ritual formed space constitute perhaps the greatest and most influential accomplishment of The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art. H. G. Evers’s Tod, Macht und Raum als Bereiche der Architektur (Death, Power and Space as Areas of Architecture) is an important general source. Kaschnitz’s concept of Greek Zwischenraum (literally,“in-between space”), or the Greek notion that space is what is left over between individual, columnar solids or bodies, found support in Löwitsch’s 1928 essay entitled “The Experience of Space in Modern Architecture.” Says Löwitsch: “Things are closed individuals, between them is ‘nothing.’ Euclidian space is only imagined insofar as it is filled with such ‘bodies’ (the Greek perception of space).”25 Kaschnitz, however, notes of Löwitsch that he characterizes columns, caryatids, and herms from a psychoanalytic point of view, without seeking a historical foundation for “phallic symbols.” Certainly The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art could not have come to be without Freud and Jung. Freud’s theories were well-synthesized and fully assimilated into the methodologies of all the disciplines discussed above by the time Kaschnitz was writing. An anecdote recounted by Kaschnitz’s wife in her posthumous biography of her husband reveals the couple’s witty irreverence toward Freud.While searching for comic titles for The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art they came up with “Stick and Cave,” (“Stab und Höhle”), reducing to absurdity both the thesis of the essay and the ultimate Freudian symbols. Kaschnitz cites the second edition of Jung’s Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido (Transformations and Symbols of the Libido) on the association of the ideas of cave, vault, and womb. For Kaschnitz, both Freud and Jung were givens, providing broad theoretical foundations for his focused exploration of the ways in which the formative will—collective like Jung’s unconscious and world-soul—shaped objects and space to fulfill and express collective beliefs. The analysis of form undertaken by Riegl to demonstrate his evolutionary concept of the Kunstwollen was not profound enough, in Kaschnitz’s opinion, because it omitted the Freudian and Jungian symbolic levels: “Neither the Greek nor the Roman ‘Kunstwollen’ can be understood as unified powers whose essence is immediately defined by the criticism of form. In order to understand them correctly, it is essential to

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trace them throughout their very complicated historical development and in their religiously or socially condition symbolic content, which is manifested in definite symbolic forms of a bodily or spatial type. … It is these inner structural principles and the effect of form appearances on the observer that embody the ‘Kunstwollen.’”26 Kaschnitz’s notes, then, tell the story of a brilliantly conceived research plan and constitute a subtext revealing the interdisciplinary nature of his research.The studies in ancient religion, ethnology, ancient literature, anthropology, and psychology which Kaschnitz explores show the reader how the Structuralist must proceed if he is to create a bigger picture than any one of these disciplines alone can provide. Kaschnitz defines the linked terms surrounding the ancestor cult: male, phallic, above-ground, hard-stone, vertical memorial, anthropomorphic. He searches for their opposites in terms fitting the worship of the mother goddess: female, womb-like, underground, molded space, spatial envelope, amorphous. But the broad range of associated information marshaled in the notes supports his polar structure without providing direct proof for its details. Herein lie both the chief virtue and the major stumbling block for Kaschnitz’s analysis. Because the structures he identifies cover such broad temporal and geographical spans, he is unable to characterize distinctly and in detail the individual moments and monuments. Kaschnitz identifies the underlying formative impulse behind the classical Greek temple, but he does not spell out the structural nuances that gave a temple of Hera, say, a different form from one of Apollo or of Zeus. It was just this differentiation that Vincent Scully achieved in his The Earth, the Temple and the Gods.27 Conversely, precisely because Kaschnitz’s structural approach seeks the unconscious formative habits of the builders of the Greek temple, he is able rapidly to traverse time and space in order to compare its form with that of the Pantheon, springing from a completely different consciousness. By avoiding specific details Kaschnitz uncovers the deep currents that flow through millennia. In his essay on structural analysis in art and anthropology, Sheldon Nodelman argues for the correctness of Kaschnitz’s and other Structuralists’ selectivity in their use of archaeological data; by confining themselves to pure description and bracketing out presuppositions that could cloud their clear understanding of the phenomenon, Structuralists allow the cultural artifacts to present themselves fully and without distortion: There is perhaps an analogy between Levi-Strauss’ preference for applying his structural-analytic techniques to the study of “primitive” societies, and the predominant concern with the ancient art of the Mediterranean, from prehistoric through clas-

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sical times, which has so far characterized the Strukturforscher [Structuralist]. Such culturally remote objects of study appear to have particularly solicited structuralanalytical methods of investigation. One reason for this is the handicap imposed by such remoteness in space or time upon the collection of data and more especially upon its interpretation. Not only is the whole matrix of assumptions, values and usages in which the social institution or work of art under study is rooted, initially unknown to the observer, but its reconstruction is complicated by the fact that his spontaneous interpretations are founded, consciously or unconsciously, on patterns of behavior and attitude proper to his own culture, and thus must almost always be wrong. These difficulties inspire a desire for more refined and accurate method, which the student of our own culture, with abundant material directly accessible and with a pre-existing pattern of explanatory assumptions already available to him, may not feel as keenly. The very difficulties which encourage the application of structural-analytic techniques to the study of remote societies or their works offer simultaneously a great advantage of method.28

If the reader leaves The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art with a heady overview of the structures of change in ancient Mediterranean civilization over time, it is because Kaschnitz has bracketed out the details of slow changes documented by archaeology. Kaschnitz’s essay accomplishes what field archaeology of the greatest precision has found hard to do: to chart the history of social and religious consciousness in the ancient Mediterranean. Despite the greater margin for error accompanying such broad methodologies, The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art still provides a stimulating and convincing account of the deep structures that brought about the widely divergent forms that we see in Greek and Roman sculpture and architecture.

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THE MEDITERRANEAN FOUNDATIONS OF ANCIENT ART1

(Guido Freiherr von Kaschnitz-Weinberg)

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or archaeology the nineteenth century was a period of gathering, of great excavations and discoveries—in somewhat compensatory reaction to Winckelmann’s inspired but intuitive approach of the previous century. A vast body of material was unearthed, reconstructed, stylistically categorized and historically arranged. Working with ever subtler and more refined research methods, connections between styles and groups of styles emerged, founded upon the basis of developmental concepts, geography and intellectual history. Stimulated by the daring advances of the most recent art history—and in spite of the quite fragmentary nature of the remains themselves—an attempt was made to determine the formal laws and polarities of individual developments, and of the developmental phases of ancient art. This attempt brought into clear focus the special, and in many respects less fragmented, character of the ancient, precisely because it proved impossible to apply directly the historical phases that had been formulated in accordance with modern art. Without doubt, the shaping of the historical conception of ancient art will take up the essential energies of research in the future. Nevertheless there seem to be signs at hand that the direction of this research is beginning to turn back to the Romantic study of history, a direction which Schnaase first took in arthistorical studies about three generations ago.2 This means that the researching of pure historical data is no longer enough for us. There is a noticeably growing feeling that the alarming accumulation of historical findings, along with the profusion of ever increasing material, have begun to make an individual overview impossible.3 Research is thus relentlessly compelled to broaden its scope, without, however—despite all the contemporary refinements of method—

bringing about the reassuring and gratifying feeling of penetrating into new, untapped regions of knowledge. Something unsatisfying still remains after the great achievements of research aimed at classification and chronology, which since Olympia has received a remarkable, fresh impetus. An ever-greater pressure is felt, not only to classify the material according to external stylistic and general historical criteria, but also to attempt, on the basis of dated and stylisticallydefined material, a definition of the meaning of the individual entities, and of the developments in Western art. More than forty years ago, the Austrian art historian Alois Riegl carried out an investigation of that kind for the Late Antique period in his book on late Roman industrial arts, an inquiry that continues to be stimulating even today. Other scholars, such as Dvořak, Frey, Worringer, A. E. Brinckmann, and Coellen followed him, posing similar questions, which were essentially oriented toward the history of ideas and philosophy. Spengler’s intention to add to his Decline of the West a corresponding evaluation of Western art was never carried out. If in what follows I attempt, on the basis of new information, just such an evaluation for classical antiquity with regard to its Mediterranean pre-conditions, I am naturally fully aware of the provisional character of the solutions posed here.

Fig. 1 |Temple of Poseidon. Paestum

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Fig. 2 | Pantheon. Rome

Only in rare cases does prehistory, which is our main concern here, allow conclusions that rest on as sound a basis as the deductions of history proper, to be formed in the area of religious and intellectual history. For the present, inferences must fill in the gaps. It is hoped that, little by little, such inferences can be replaced by objectively established research results. Only the future will tell us whether this compensation will bring the whole structure crashing down, whether it must be altered entirely, or whether it can be left intact. A certain irrational element that is always intrinsic to such speculative research will, in the meantime, remain accessible only to intuition. The two buildings with which we begin, a Doric temple at Paestum [Fig. 1], and the Pantheon in Rome [Fig. 2], both belong to the period we call classical antiquity. For the unprejudiced viewer who ignores mere externals, there hardly seems to be any unity either in spatial conception or in style. In truth these two buildings have very little in common, and these common qualities stand out for the most part only when compared with the later, post-classical periods in the West

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Fig. 3 | Apollo. Olympia

or with earlier Oriental developments. These common qualities, which are ultimately of a higher order, carry conviction only in the perspective of history. In the development of classical antiquity itself, however, the difference between Roman and Greek art is so great, as the comparison between the Pantheon and the Greek temple shows, that here we cannot see any consecutive stages of a development that would lead from the Greek to the Roman. Theories of a transformation of the Greek, in the sense of an influence from the East (such as Strzygowski proposed in his day), must be excluded entirely. Here, rather, something radically different has been at work. The meaning of this difference, in corresponding Mediterranean pre-conditions, which lead on the one hand to the Greek temple and to Greek art, and on the other hand to the Pantheon and to Roman art, shall be traced here only tentatively and quite sketchily. In our memory Greek art is endowed with a clear and radiant character. When we think about Greek art, the magnificent images of the gods of the classical period appear before our mind’s eye. The Apollo of the west pediment at Olympia checks, with his commanding hand, the chaotic forces of nature [Fig. 3].

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Fig. 4 | Eleusinian Relief. Detail

The riding youths of Athens parade before the gods of the Parthenon frieze, who in princely freedom and in the enjoyment of their own happy existence accept the homage of their human likenesses. The shining columns of the temple rise up. Even in their ruined state and isolation these columns, lined up in a brotherly row, still convey the idea of the physical beauty, necessity, and matter-offactness of their existence. Solemnity and happy joie-de-vivre, however, are not peculiar only to those gods who abide in bright Olympian dwellings turned toward the light of day. Even the forces of the nocturnal, the earthly, and the infernal appeared to the worshipper of classical times in forms of youthful beauty [Fig. 4]. Only a faint melancholy underlying the features of the earth mother in the famous Eleusinian relief, and a light touch of inner sobriety in maidenly demeanor of Persephone, sovereign of the fearful kingdom of the dead, points to the darker side of her original nature, that side associated with the gloomy vegetative, the terrifying infernal.

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Beginning in the sixth century before Christ, one can in fact characterize the pantheon of the Greeks as a transfigured reflection of human existence and beauty. The gods of the Homeric hymns are improved beings–not entirely exempt, of course, from normal hardship and sorrows—yet in their sphere they are perfect beings of human stock and form. The mysterious functioning of nature, which continuously engenders and destroys—birth, life, and death—becomes tangible, intelligible, and worthy of adoration in the beautiful and harmonious nature of the gods, and in their images as seen in poetry and in the visual artsforms that were superhuman yet were still created after a human model. Today we know that this ideal conception of the functioning of nature and of the cosmic powers was not always prevalent in Greece.4 We know that even in Homeric times, and in the following centuries, this was only one side of religion, one turned toward the brightness of refined and noble life. Their gloomy, dark, sinister original nature continued to survive vigorously—despite the brilliant radiance of the Olympian gods—in the beliefs and cults of the humble, subjugated people of Greek and Mediterranean origin. To be sure, the Greeks themselves still preserved in their myths the memory of the primeval religious beginnings, when mighty primitive generations of gods, intractable and wild in nature, had to be overthrown, battled, and destroyed by the founders of the Olympian realm. Indeed, the fight with the Titans and the Giants, who were immortal like the gods, was never fully resolved. It could always flare up again—as the example of Prometheus demonstrates—and call into question, or even shatter, the existence of the Olympians. The cults that were firmly rooted among humble folk and in remote areas, as well as the primitive images, give us the best idea of the original conceptions of the creative and destructive powers of nature. These powers, sometimes lustful and fertile, sometimes brutal and murderous, survive in myth in the figures of the Titans and Giants. In the Mediterranean the procreative and the maternal, on the one hand, and the chthonic conception of death, preservation and rebirth, on the other hand, take the primary place.These beliefs can be identified (at least in part) as the sources and roots of the comparatively late conceptions of the classical world and of the Homeric belief in the gods; conceptions that had been changed into the form of the beautiful and the harmonious. Naturally this transformation from the formless, from the rough and monstrous, into the pictorial, the beautiful and the harmonious, of the ideal human figure, did not take place all of a sudden. It was not the work of a particular race nor of creative men like Homer, but was accomplished little by little, in many stages that were interrupted by serious reverses.

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Especially in the history of art the opinion is often upheld (and I myself once believed it) that the propitious combination of abilities and talents, which resulted from the meeting of the North and the Orient in the Mediterranean basin, provided the essential conditions for the formation of the Greek character, above all in the area of religious and artistic activity. The findings of the history of religion and of archaeological research in recent years have not entirely upheld this view. On the contrary, their findings have led to the realization that, in addition to the Northern and the pure Oriental, there was another factor at work in the formation of that which we can call the genius of the Greeks, one that up to now has been little considered: the prehistoric cultures of the Mediterranean which played a quite special role in this formation.5 It is these Mediterranean elements which will be discussed here, and in particular insofar as they (in combination with the original religious conceptions of the Mediterranean area) seem to have played a part in the formation of the artistic and architectural character of ancient culture. In the course of this inquiry we will encounter very basic conceptions, as are found nearly without exception in the life of all primitive people. Procreation, birth, and death, are—if one disregards such external forces and phenomena as lightning, thunder, and all the heavenly bodies—those stages and metamorphoses of human existence that stir the primitive man. Above all, those are the ones that he tries to bring under his power, and to safeguard them from the influence of evil forces. Obviously I do not intend to explain the lofty forms of ancient religion and art on the basis of these simple and often barbaric conceptions, or to reduce them to products of the sexual drive or the fear of death. My purpose is to prove that precisely in the Mediterranean the deep receptivity to the reality and the importance of the procreative and the childbearing powers determined the fundamental primitive attitude towards the whole world to an exceptional extent, and that it was precisely this special concern for the procreative and the maternal which found an expression, not only in the essential character of Greek and Roman religion and cult, but also in the structures of ancient art forms. From the standpoint of the history of religion, the early periods of the Mediterranean world are still particularly dark. Here one remains almost entirely dependent on conjectures, which in part rest on the often-doubtful conclusions made from the research of comparative religion. It would therefore be advisable to stay as much as possible within the bounds of the most general hypotheses. In the western European area of the Mediterranean; it is characteristic of the so-called Megalithic or Great Stone Age to attempt to control energies of a spiritual or daemonic sort by assigning them dwellings in matter; that is, provid-

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Zur Steinzeitwende Megalithkulturen Pfahlbauten Rassenpsychologische Grundlage Europas

Fig. 5 | Spread of Megalithic Culture

ing them with the bodies that they lack. Rather than being a sharply delineated period of historical development, the term “Megalithic” denotes a particular psychic and formal attitude, which is defined by the prevalence of the ancestor cult and by a preference for a collective structure of society. It is characteristic that very different cultures share this attitude.6 These cultures can be traced from the primitive Oceanic peoples of more recent times back to the Ice Age developments of southern India, Madagascar and Ethiopia to the late Neolithic and Bronze-Age Megalithic periods of the Mediterranean, western European, and northern lands. In the region of the Mediterranean itself, which is our particular concern here, Megalithic cultures from the Neolithic and the early Bronze Ages have been discovered in various locations [Fig. 5]. In the eastern Mediterranean, traces of Megalithic culture are particularly prevalent in Palestine; in the southern Mediterranean, the North African coast belongs to its domain. The islands of the central Mediterranean, like Malta-and especially Sardinia—are related to North Africa, while in the West, in addition to the Balearics, the Iberian peninsula (modern-day Spain and Portugal) produced a Great Stone Age culture of particular importance, which in its tum spread to western France, the British Isles, and the European north.

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Fig. 6 | Dolmen of Crucung. France

Fig. 7 | Menhir. Saint Maccaire

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As the term already indicates, the characteristic of these cultures lies in their predilection for the use of enormous blocks of stone—slabs and pillars—which in rough-hewn form tum into table-shaped tombs (dolmens, Fig. 6), into powerfully rising monuments (menhirs, Fig. 7), or as they are called in the East, massebah. It is a primitive architectural sense that enlarges these simple constructions—to the mighty tombs of Mycenae, or the nuraghe of Sardinia or the prodigious temples of Malta.7 This preference for stone and its enormous dimensions, which can be followed in a nearly unbroken band from England to the Easter Islands, is doubtless deeply anchored in particular social, intellectual, and above all religious foundations. It is the belief in the soul, indigenous to the Mediterranean from the earliest times, which makes the preoccupation with existence after death the focus of all concerns. Here a spirit-world comes into being, a world that, in spite of its diminished physicality, remains closely bound up with the physical and sensuous world of those left behind.The souls of men who were prominent and mighty, that is, of the ancestors, possess powers which are not annihilated by death, but which instead have to be maintained and nourished. Their random roaming about had to be stopped, for these spiritual powers could influence, in a harmful or (as was more often the case) in a helpful or strengthening way, the world of the living.8 Their influence had to be directed in a propitious way to the prosperity of the close family circle above all, to the belongings and good fortune of the kin, and to their descendants; and if possible that influence had to be increased. Therefore, the spirits of the dead needed nourishment and care. They also had to be repeatedly strengthened and satisfied; they demanded a fixed residence, a dwelling of a material sort, which could at the same time take the place of the lost body. On the other hand, it was in the interest of the living to tie them down, permanently, so that they could be kept at a distance if their activity was considered injurious; or, on the contrary, so that they could be invoked and worshipped as often as one believed it necessary.9 Neolithic man had learned early to value the hardness and permanence of stone.10 He connected these properties with lasting being, and he perhaps recognized in this quality connections with particular energies. Unusual, uncommon forms may often give rise to a belief in strange powers or relationships.11 Ethnology provides us with countless examples which could serve here as illustrations. This aspect, as well as its power of resistance and its relative immutability, predestined stone to be the permanent container of the restless, fluctuating being of the soul and spirit.12 The gravestone became filled with power, that is, it turned into the body of everything holy, in which the spiritual,13 seen from

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the primitive standpoint as the procreative power of the ancestors, was accustomed to make its abode.14 It is very likely that these procreative powers of the ancestors were combined in the conception of primitive man with other powers of a generative sort which faced him in nature itself, such as the fertile character of the earth, or the energies which one ascribed to the sun or to lightning bolts and other natural phenomena. Indirect conclusions from later situations, and analogies in later Megalithic cultures, which ethnology provides in generous measure, lead to this view. The concept of the monument is peculiar to nearly all these Megalithic cultures, an idea still familiar to us in a partly weakened, partly broadened form in the set of meanings which the word embraces. If one understands all that belongs to a monument, then above all it appears that its erected quality is quite essential. One speaks of the “towering” monument and of “erecting” or “raising up” a monument. A monument also has to have a mass erected as vertical as possible and—so it seems—it must be longer than it is wide, since only such a monument can give rise to the impression of its towering over us.15 It is clear that the erected quality is quite essential, and suggests that one should connect this form with a complex of meanings which played a great role in the consciousness of the direct and primitive human being. Here one can think of the form of man himself, who alone among all living creatures has the characteristic of standing upright, or of the form and state of the erected phallus.16 Observations of modern primitive peoples allow one to conjecture that the significance that the procreative member took on in the spiritual, mythic and religious lives of prehistoric peoples can hardly be overestimated. The phallus, as clues in many historical and modern primitive conceptual systems still clearly reveal, counts as the seat and source of life, indeed as the embodiment of life, and thereby enters into the realm of religion and cult.17 Through the integration of the procreative act into the sphere of the holy, the procreative member itself, especially in its erect state, becomes a taboo-charged object, the holy symbol of life. It is charged with protective powers, but above all with powers that are procreative or that incite to procreate. I would like to assume that when we are dealing with the ancestor cult, the monument or the menhir18 takes the place of the procreative first father (Urvater), to whose fertility the descendants of the clan owe their existence and, in a larger sense, also their prosperity. It is therefore quite probable that the soul of the ancestor must actually be identified with this procreative power of the ancestor.19 It is the soul which does not pass away with the death of the ancestor, but instead continues to be influential.The soul lives on in the stone, and in the concreteness of the monument naturally

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demands the upright form, which recalls the essence of the erected phallus. I would personally like to believe that at first when such monuments, which originally could also have been of wood, were erected, the association with the phallus always played a role, even if perhaps quite often unconsciously. Later this association could have passed into the background in the face of other meanings. In the regions where the ancestor cult was practiced, at any rate, this association remained, often more or less disguised or sublimated. The procreative power of the ancestor, of the hero, is invoked in rituals taking place at these monuments, which are usually erected over the mortal remains of the deceased.20 This generative power is strengthened again and again through anointing the stone with fat, blood, or milk. This is the power that can be changed into the productive power of the fields, the procreative activity of domestic animals and hunted beasts as well, and in the ability of descendants to propagate. It is quite probable, although not directly demonstrable, that in these primitive times the ideas of power in itself and sexual power were hardly differentiated, that these notions were then much more intertwined and mixed.21 Consequently, it is possible that each erected stone appeared as symbol of the power which its erection necessitated, already containing power in this magical sense, without expressly serving as a dwelling place for an ancestral spirit. Even today “being erected” includes in its symbolic content that which is particularly lively and powerful. Signs of sovereignty are erected as the distinctive mark of the superior power of the victor, as was the trophy of the Romans in conquered lands, while the enemy’s monuments of a similar sort were knocked down, to lie powerless on the ground.23 Accordingly the gravestone, the monument which is erected for the deceased, is at the same time also the new body of the dead man,24 or the seat of his procreative power,25 and as such occasionally it takes on the form of the phallus.26 In this form the gravestone makes it easy for the soul of the ancestor, which is nothing other than procreative power,27 to take its place in it,28 to permeate its matter and to transform it into a power-laden and power-emitting substance. Later, in historical times, when everywhere in Greece one was still accustomed to setting up pillars, steles, and columns on graves, this meaning, originally linked with the towering monument,29 had long been forgotten. But the immediate ties with the form of the erect, towering symbol remained, and with it the conspicuous preference for this form of pillar- and column-type monument.30 Only in particular areas of the Mediterranean region was the memory of the original character of the grave monument preserved right up to the late period,31 as in Asia Minor [Fig. 8] and Etruria [see Fig. 43], where in certain regions grave

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Fig. 8 | Phallus Grave Stones. Pergamon

markers in the form of columns—but with the developed, unmistakable image of the phallus—crowned the grave mound of the deceased.32 We do not know when and how the heroes,33 daemons, and gods of ancient mythology developed from these ancestral spirits,34 but in this connection it is important to make clear that the history of religion has sought the origin of many of these deities in the pre-Greek Mediterranean in the realm of the phallic.35 Thus Kaibel in a now-famous essay about Idaean dactyls attempted to demonstrate the phallic origin of the Titans.36 In the case of many purely Mediterranean, i.e., un-Greek, gods and heroes like Hermes, Apollo, and even Eros, there can be no doubt that in prehistoric times they were venerated in the form of phallic-shaped monuments.37 The herm in historic times represents the final and most noteworthy reminder of these.38 In its pillar-likeform39 and in its accentuation of the sexual parts, it can only be explained as a partially anthropomorphized, image of the phallus [Fig. 9], which originally represented Hermes as the god of the dead. Also in the Dionysian circle there were daemons whose pre-Greek phallic character is quite manifest.40 All these divine beings, to whom the Etruscan genius should be added,41 originated from exaggerated conceptions of procreative power in the human and animal world.42 Related to them appear similar powers in nature itself, above all the sun, whose procreative energy, often identified with

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Fig. 9 | Herm. Siphnos

the sexual power of the divine ancestors, is now also concentrated in menhirtype monuments, which we know from earliest Egypt. In the sun sanctuaries— I name only the sanctuary of Abusir (Fifth Dynasty) whose reconstruction appears here in illustration [Fig. 10]—menhir-type obelisks were erected in the center point.43 They also, according to unquestionable Egyptian testimonies, are none other than the age-old containers of the procreative power of the sun.

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Fig. 10 | Sanctuary of the Sun. Abusir

Here we can only briefly mention all this in passing. But all of these observations, inferences, and suppositions from the history of religion and cult about the meaning of the stone monument and its connection with the form of the phallus are considerations (which antiquity itself has already itself carried out in part) that help us to explain both the delight of prehistoric cultures in the erection of such monuments as well as the actual articulation in pillars and in individual members. In its articulation in individual members or units and in its corporeality, the Great Stone Age’s way of shaping distinguishes itself clearly in a fashion peculiar to itself; here one grasps the essence of the Megalithic creative structure. It is nothing other than an ensemble of this kind, a monument articulated in individual members, that as Plutarch reported was erected to the Dioskouroi in Sparta: a monument in the form of two wooden pillars with two yoke-like cross beams placed over them.44 We find a similar combination again in the enormous trilithons which once surrounded the sacrosanct middle point of the Megalithic monument at Stonehenge [Fig. 11].45 Presumably they also were none other than the primitive dwellings of gods or ancestral spirits. At the same place, as a reconstruction of the original state shows [Fig. 12], these piers with an architrave running around them were already combined to form a closed circular

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Fig. 11 | Stonehenge. Trilithon

construction that was entirely architectural. It surrounded the inner holy precinct. Except for the primordial stone monuments, the specific traditions and forms sanctified for reasons of cult, the original phallic significance of the pillar-andcolumn form had long been forgotten in historical times and probably even earlier.46 The architects of the early Greek period placed a crown of posts around the modest houses of the divinity and thereby laid the ground for the peripteral form of the later Greek temple [Fig. 13]. In their entire chronological development, these architects gradually advanced toward the essence of the old Mediterranean now coming to the fore, but no longer knew anything of the original connections of that form which had now

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Fig. 12 | Stonehenge. Reconstruction

Fig. 13 |“Basilica.” Paestum

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become a purely formal and architectural element. Nevertheless, in the perfect invention of the Greek column,47 the connection with the very ancient, magic mythical root, which had once drawn its power from the essence of procreative life, was not extinct. It was indeed this association that bestowed on this archetype of plastic form and building that inner strength and necessity, which touch-

Fig. 14 | Pillar. Palace at Knossos

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es us even today beyond all aesthetic and merely formal-visual reasons. Working in a quite unaccountable way, its rigid and yet powerfully swollen, almost organic presence enchants us; and will continue to enchant us as long as “dear life,” as it was once realized in the Greek sense, stirs us. The Greek himself was in all phases of his creative power bound to this symbolic form of active, procreative life.This form, its unique expressive content ever repeating but never exhausting itself, approximates itself to the character of the ultimate form of human existence. Indeed, this form embraces the form of human existence and like tragedy, consisting of the tension between the cosmic and the eternal, repeats it for all time as man’s definitive image. In the Minoan period, immediately before the beginning of the historical Greek periods, columns and pillars of the royal buildings at Knossos were decorated with the sacred sign of the double axe [Fig. 14],48 and to all appearances were also worshipped.49

Fig. 15 | Gold Ring. Mycenae

Fig. 16 | Seal. Crete

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Fig. 17 | Artemesion (Reconstruction). Magnesia on the Meander

On the seal pictures from Mycenae are represented single columns with a worshipper, similar to the relief from Malta. Other columns, flanked by guardian beasts, appear in the place of representations of the god, as we can today establish from the well-known relief of the Lion Gate at Mycenae [see Fig. 28], as well as in the numerous depictions on Cretan and Mycenaean seals and rings [Fig. 15]. It is particularly telling in this connection that in a later rock-cut tomb in Asia Minor a phallus appears between two lions instead of the column.50 In the entire area of the ancient Mediterranean culture, column, human figure and phallus can appear interchangeably as bearers of divine power [Fig. 16]. In Greek times, however, Hermes, who originally appears in the form of the phallus, is also worshipped as the supporting center-post of the house that holds together the dwelling of the living and assures its continuance.51

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Columns and pillars became the fundamental elements of the building in Greek architecture.The monumental Greek building was unacquainted with any construction method using walls made of mortar, brick, and quarry stone in our modern sense. Even when the Greek architect builds walls, he joins together individual ashlars, separately layered one upon the other, with no mortar to bind them to each other into an amorphous mass.Yet Greek architecture finds its essential expression in the combination of columns and pillars, which as bearers of the entablature, and as a surrounding envelope, embrace the body of the cella of the temple, or in halls and peristyles, surround the courtyards of sacred enclosures, just as they do the palaces of Hellenistic rulers [Fig. 17]. The individual, statue-like, and essentially bodily element of the column, the pillar, the slab, or the ashlar is that which, in harmonious and rhythmically proportionate combination, determines the essence of Greek building. The idea of the spatial, in the sense of a spatial envelope surrounding man, is perfectly foreign to this decidedly corporeal-plastic architecture. The final reason for this character—which is peculiar to it—can be found, I repeat, as the legacy of the Mediterranean Megalithic in the preference for the pillar-like and columnar. This preference, in turn, has its actual origin in the phallic character of the pillar and the monument [see Fig. 22]. In closest relationship to it is the Greeks’ partiality for the stele and the pillar as bearers of imagery and, finally, also for the sculptural form itself. I have already pointed out that in the beginning many pre-Greek and Greek divinities were represented in phallic form. We know above all from Pausanias, a man from Asia Minor who in the second century A.D. wrote a description of his travels in Greece, that even in this late period throughout Greece still stood very old, monumental, and completely aniconic god-pillars in the more remote temples. Many of these represented nothing other than phalli, as Pausanias himself more or less bashfully indicates. To the Megalithic ancestors of the ancient Greeks, however, the image of man and the phallus itself were considered equivalent. One could take the place of the other. Of this there is still monumental evidence from the Megalithic era itself, in the image-bearing menhirs of southern and western France [Fig. 18], in which the human form taken on by the menhir still clearly reveals the original form of the phallus.52 But this equivalence can be even more clearly demonstrated in the statuette from Alderney [Fig. 19], one of the islands of the English Channel.53 It distinctly suggests a phallus, which, provided with little arms and little bentin legs, is supposed to function also as a man-like being. It seems characteristic in this connection that the human form can also substitute for the columns of

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Fig. 18 | Menhir from St. Sernin. Aveyron

Fig. 19 | Statuettes from Alderney

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Fig. 20 |Temple-Palace. Tell Halaf

Fig. 21 | Erechtheion (Porch of the Korai)

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the Greek temple. As the holy, dynamic member which guarantees the existence of the building, the column is interchanged with statues of guardian deities in the entrance hall of the North Assyrian temple of Tell Halaf [Fig. 20]. This is a reference which is quite equivalent to the idea of the phallic herm as supporter of the house. In Greece itself the idea continues to obtain for a long time, as the divine caryatids of the treasury at Delphi or the kourai of the porch of the Erechtheion on the Attic acropolis testify [Fig. 21]. I believe that from these roots of a male, procreative nature, accounted for here only in outline, grows the sculptural character of Greek art, in the same way as the columnar and the corporeal elements of its tectonic structure. Here we are face to face with a transformation and a sublimation,55 to which the element brought in by the Greeks, so barbaric at the moment of their immigration, must have contributed most of all. It is the same process of sublimation in which, in the religious area, so many of the luminous forms of the gods of the Greek Olympians must have participated; a transformation which, according to the research of Kaibel and others, even the accursed powers of hell, the Titans, took part in. But yet another basic conception is added to this male-statuary character of Greek art, one that is also grounded in the character of the Mediterranean Megalithic period. I have in mind that expression of the lasting, timeless and eternal, which seems so inseparably bound to the classical, which can never grow old. And here we face a phenomenon that befalls formal interpretation in art history again and again, namely the fact that space, or rather the respective conception of space, is able to take over the qualities of time or actually to cancel them out. How this takes place in the Mediterranean, and then later in the Greek world, I can here unfortunately only outline with a few words. The ancient Greeks, as I have already submitted, had no concept of enveloping space, such as that which we experience today upon entering a cathedral. Another sense of space was familiar to them, one that develops from the idea of the space between things. In this conception the spatial is something secondary, something that is between two corporeal things and in which, after all, the corporeal also exists—the corporeal, which always remains the most important thing. We shall see in a moment how this notion of space which the Greeks in turn took over from the Megalithic developed quite logically from the corporeal conception,56 and in which way it can be construed as the sphere of the eternal, imperishable and unchangeable. For the first time the sensation of bodily weight in the monument enters into the sphere of artistic symbolism. The idea of weight or gravity is bound to, and

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partly equated with, the conception of the powerful.57 All by itself, the idea of permanence and the significance of time becomes connected with it. In its steadfastness and rigidity, the block resists those signs of time which express themselves in changes. The block owes this character to its resistance, its inner solidity, and above all its heaviness, which is interpreted by us, more or less consciously, as the essential basis for its unchangeability. In the heaviness we see that power which offers the greatest resistance to all attempts to alter the duration of the block’s existence. Thus, this heaviness becomes the symbol of power, name-

Fig. 22 | Grave Stele. Kerameikos (Athens)

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ly that power which, with the help of many individuals, either subservient or sympathetic to it, erected this rough block as an eternal sign of its inherent character. Through this block, power finds itself confirmed in its own character by the force of the conquered gravity. Whether the monument is thought to house a daemon, an ancestral spirit, or a god, whether the stone in itself contains magic power or radiates it, here it is important that the power in this holy stone is also manifested in the unique effort that was required to place this weight in its specific position. Here the human becomes the gigantic, and this giant lasts, for it cannot in all probability be brought down soon again by any greater feat.Therefore, weight as invincible resistance is here not only a gauge of the power of its subduer but also guarantees a lasting proclamation of this power for all time. As becomes more and more apparent from this general analysis of the Megalithic monument, the idea of the monumental, looked at more closely, is not at all identical with the conception of the monumental familiar to us, as art history and aesthetics have characterized it [Fig. 22]. In our conception, even a statue or architecture on a small scale can appear monumental. The following consideration will show us that physical massiveness finally can be replaced by something derived from this massiveness, namely by a conception of space which takes the place of the seemingly unwrought mass, and which is indeed developed from it. If one follows the development of the different monumental Megalithic forms from the late Neolithic period into the Bronze Age, one can soon detect a striking change in the conception of massiveness. Originally the blocks—which when they were erected became menhirs, or formed enormous grave chambers, or were arranged in layers in the huge, so-called Cyclopean walls [see Fig. 27]— were not carved. Menhirs were only squared to the point that a preponderance of longitudinal extension was obtained, and in this way, one could express the character of being erected, of towering [Fig. 23]. Strictly speaking, therein already lies a conscious emphasis of lines of gravity. Later menhirs clearly reveal that gradually one attempted to accentuate the front and back and to smooth the sides or to shape them like pillars. A further development of these tendencies finally leads to two great main groups: the steles and the pillars that we find everywhere in Greece [Fig. 24]. In my opinion this development is of the greatest significance. I believe that it represents none other than the elaboration of an axial grid structure which one can see as the basis of a new system and, in fact, the first system in the history of creativity, that is, in the artistic assembly of matter. Aesthetic motives, and

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Fig. 23 | Menhir. Kerleskan (Brittany)

Fig. 24 | Cemetery. Kerameikos (Athens)

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Fig. 25 | Stele. Thera

Fig. 26 | Axis-System of a Stele

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possibly (according to Altheim) cult motives, are behind the shaping and the accentuation of the edges of the pillar and stele [Fig. 25].58 But behind this simple striving for a more pleasing and clearer form, are hidden the actual formal motifs which as such never entered into the consciousness of Megalithic man. Obviously here it is a matter, as this sketch indicates [Fig. 26], of accentuating above all the lines of gravity in the vertical edges of the stone and of making them stand out clearly in their importance for the statics of the monument. In logical relation to these lines stands a similar accentuation of the horizontals, which get their significance only as lines from which gravity hangs. Thus in the block itself there is set up an unending system of vertical and horizontal axes, within which countless planes can be placed, corresponding to the direction of the force of gravity or standing vertically on it. As one can easily see, these planes also define the limits of the regular pillar and stele. Every corner is none other than a cutting point of the planes or a meeting point of three axes: one is vertical; the other is horizontal on the plane, with the third perpendicular to the plane. In this way one arrives at a kind of cubic structure, an arrangement which I have had drawn in Fig. 30. Together with this structure comes into being, naturally and necessarily, the concept of measurement or of the module, which

Fig. 27 |Walls of Numistrone. Italy (Basilicata)

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is obviously foreign to the builders of the “Cyclopean” walls, but now becomes the basis of all construction.59 However, this observation is not limited to menhirs, pillars and stele; it can also be extended to all other monuments and constructions of the Megalithic world of the late Neolithic period. Everywhere in the course of its development, these axes of a new pattern emerge in terms of the corporeal, which seems to be oriented according to gravity. We can trace this emergence of a pattern in a particularly striking way in the building of walls. The oldest walls, built from completely undressed or only quite generally dressed blocks, are comparatively rare. I would like to cite here as an example the “Cyclopean” wall of the town of Numistrone in south Italy [Fig. 27]. The entire fabric of the wall, which consists in part of huge bolders, holds together without any bonding material, only through the weight of the roughly layered stones. Corresponding to its structure, this powerful wall functions exclusively as the material expression of the weight hard at work within it. The feeling of heavily pressing force is still alive in the remains of the now-destroyed wall and will last as long as one block still lies upon another. It took determination of enormous power to move these blocks, which now have found in the mighty character of the wall their lasting witness. Human power, which ruled over major collective strength, has actually transformed itself here into the energies of gravity, which, as the expression of a very old, long-gone power, still functions right up to our own time. It is not for nothing that one ascribes the erection of such walls to the Cyclops, giants, or even to the gods. Indeed, the power visibly assembled in it seems to far surpass everything human. In these very old walls the impression of powerful blocks piled high, one on top of the other, dominates. Their obvious unshakability evokes the feeling of indestructibility and eternal permanence in the entire structure. However, if one follows the development of these Cyclopaean wall structures into later periods, then one observes an entirely unconsciously working impulse, which, like that of the menhirs, is a constant one: to translate the pure, physical impression of these heavy blocks into clear forms and lines. Put in another way, one clearly recognizes the effort to summarize the essence of weight in well-defined lines of active forces. If one leaves aside the polygonal walls,60 here too, as in the menhir, the line of gravity is understood as the line of direction of the action of gravity, and in increasing measure, base- and bearing-joints of huge buildings orient themselves toward that line of gravity and to the horizontals which correspond to it, as can be observed in the temples of Malta [see Fig. 38] or in the walls of the Bronze Age citadels of the Argolid [Fig. 28].

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Fig. 28 |The Lion Gate. Mycenae

The piled-up construction becomes layered construction, and finally the ashlar wall. This may have had its practical and technical reasons, but the immediate consequence of these practical motives is the emergence of a new order, which man, following natural laws, puts into the construction of his works. The law of gravity, through the ever more striking and clear emergence of the order derived from it, takes the place of the earlier, physically and sensually experienced weight of the block, and this abstract order which arose in this way now itself becomes the symbol of eternal permanence and indestructible existence. Thus gradually an order developed (as we can recognize from the cited examples) from the experience of the physical operation of the weight of gravity in the emergence of the above-mentioned coordinates, namely the vertical, the horizontal, and the depth line [Fig. 30]. At first it is a purely physical order, which gradually determines, however, even the conception of the space in which the corporeal exists. An Egyptian building of the Fourth Dynasty, like the socalled Temple of the Sphinx of Khefren at Giza [Fig. 29], may serve as an example of just such a physical-spatial arrangement or structure.The Egyptian temple illustrated here was constructed only from the elements of this cubic space. A culture which, like the Egyptian, is capable of constructing an exact cubic grid, has also grasped the geometry of Euclidian space, at least in an empirical way.

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Fig. 29 |“The Temple of the Sphinx.” Giza

But of special significance for us remains the fact that this space, whose structure can best be considered a cubic-coordinate system in the form delineated here [Fig. 30], as a historical phenomenon can be derived from the character of perceptible gravity. One will remember that a while ago we traced the effect of the monumental, the eternal, and the permanent on the character of this gravity.This character of the monumental now also fits—and this is the important thing—the arrangement of space derived historically from gravity.We could therefore summarize the findings of our observations in the following words: that character of the eternal, the imperishable and monumental befits all buildings which, like the Egyptian temple presented just now, are constructed from the elements of this coordinate space. It also befits all sculpture, which, like Egyptian sculpture, possesses the structure of this same space and which exists in this space, a trait that we have already marveled at in the Megalithic structures where, however, it is still as the action of physically perceptible gravity. This ordering of space, which confers on everything that exists in it the character of the eternal, is—as a sublimation which brings about a bright, clear, ra-

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Fig. 30 | Cubic Structure of Euclidian Space

tional order—genuinely Mediterranean. For the Mediterranean, this rational character has remained decisive to the present day. The Greeks took over this ordering of space from their Mediterranean predecessors. They continued this process of sublimation by changing the old rational-but-colossal content into the human. The vital power of man himself takes the place of the revered procreative powers. The phallus is supplanted by the sensual beauty of the human body [Fig. 31]. The Nordic desire for expression invades the motionless statics of the Megalithic. At the same time the Near Eastern and Egyptian portrait is drawn into the Megalithic forms of the panel, stele, and pillar. The lively power of the fluted columns and architraves of the Greek temple [see Fig. 34] takes the place of rigid architectonic stereometry [see Fig. 29]. Instead of the motionless statues of the Egyptian realm of the dead [Fig. 32] appear the powerful, energyfilled bodies of beautiful young men. The columnar sense of the basic Mediterranean form remains. The strict ordering of Euclidian space also continues to be in force, unaltered. But a new power has entered into this eternal order, a new activity, which in place of the rigid system of laws brings about a tension that one can call dramatic. This tension, as tectonic conflict (that is, as the opposition between members which support and those which are supported) pervades the whole Greek character [Fig. 34]. From the original character of the Mediterranean Megalithic period we have derived, on the one hand, the corporeal-columnar character of Greek architec-

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Fig. 31 |“Kritios Boy.” Athens

Fig. 32 | Ranofer. Cairo

ture as well as the related form of the statuary representation of man. On the other hand, we have derived the monumental sphere of the eternal space, which is fixed by the orthogonal structure of coordinates and in which these forms exist. This decidedly masculine and physical character could be interpreted as a supreme sublimation of those powers which, as procreative energies, provided the motive for the origins of Megalithic forms. We must tum away from this remarkable finding—namely that in the final analysis this kind of Mediterranean conception of space arises from the materialization of a quite specific religious and cultic conception—and turn towards another equally Mediterranean attitude, in which we shall see that matters stand 58

Fig. 33 | Seated Statue. Le Curti (Capua)

Fig. 34 |Temple of Apollo. Corinth

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quite the same. But this attitude, in its innermost essence, is in almost polar opposition to the world we have just examined. If we survey the religious representations of the early Mediterranean, then, alongside the above-mentioned phallic symbols, we will find another group, whose significance is based on the principle of the female and the maternal, illustrated here by the statue of a mother divinity from the sanctuary of Le Curti near Capua [Fig. 33], to offer one example from among innumerable possible ones.61 In this sphere we immediately encounter the notion of the maternal, fruitful nature of the earth. It seems at once natural to us that one seeks this divine being in the underground regions of the earth itself, from which the plants and trees that provide nourishment for men and beasts shoot up. Man himself returns to these regions, like all living beings, when his term on earth has been served.The connection of this maternal deity with the dead emerges so spontaneously (as Dieterich has shown in his beautiful book, Mutter Erde [Mother Earth]), and just as spontaneously and obviously arises man’s hope of rebirth from this maternal earth according to the model of plants, which come to life again in the spring and begin to shoot up from the earth. It is clear that the numerous caves of the Mediterranean limestone area must have particularly nurtured this idea of the holy character of the underground. Thus it is no surprise that these caves, used in earliest times as dwellings, were later used more and more for the accommodation of the dead and finally also as places of worship. This was worship—not only of the ancestors buried in these caves—but also of others, above all of maternal powers and daemons. For my part, I believe that this cult of the maternal was not always at home in the Mediterranean, or that it at least experienced distinct stimulation and encouragement from the East. The real center of maternal worship in the Neolithic period seems to have been the area between the Danube and the steppes of western Asia. There this maternal worship can be considered, perhaps with good reasons, to be the legacy and inheritance of the remote Ice Age. In these regions of eastern Europe and in Iran, one finds everywhere little images of a maternal deity [Fig. 35],62 and it seems that the worship of the divine mother and her likewise divine child, son, or lover gradually spreads from this original center through the Near East and Mesopotamia in the eastern Mediterranean and then into the western Mediterranean. It is certain that toward the end of the Neolithic period in the Mediterranean area we find, in addition to these mother goddess idols, a genuine cult of the earth goddess or the Great Mother (Cybele, as she was also called in Asia Minor).

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Fig. 35 | Idol. Thrace

This cult was preferably practiced in caves,63 that is, where the dead were buried,64 and where one had a sense of being particularly near to both the fertile powers of the earth and to water, the holy and salubrious spring. In the Mediterranean this cult of a maternal, fertile deity, and the related yearning for the underground and the earthly, encountered the worship of ancestors, the phallic nature of the cult of the pillar, and the gigantic male character of the Megalithic mind described in the first part of this study. From then on we find both of these attitudes existing side by side in the Mediterranean area, influencing one another, even in many respects penetrating one another, without, to be sure, ever achieving a real unity from these two worlds. From this

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period on in the Mediterranean, we can clearly distinguish, on the one hand, the worship of ancestors and heroes, which—along with the idea of other procreative powers of nature and with the Northern belief in a supreme divine being— finally leads to the Homeric gods. Parallel to this worship is the phallic, pillar-like conception of form. On the other hand, we can distinguish that other world, in which the maternal, earthly nature of childbearing plays the principal role, in which death and life are united in a cycle, and whose predominant, characteristic features are the cave-like, the underground, and the dark.We find this second belief again in the brightened-up figures of Persephone, Demeter, and Hekate, and above all in those conceptions of popular beliefs, which—like a gloomier, more nebulous background—contrast all the more strikingly with the plasticity, brightness, and even radiance of the Olympian gods. But if we remain for a moment in the early period of this Mediterranean rivalry between maternal and procreative principles, then we see at first that the idea of the underground and the cave-like could quickly gain a foothold, but that the Megalithic male principle makes every effort to pull the cave-like from its dark, formless sphere and to move it up into the light of the sun and of clear, creative rationality.65

Fig. 36 | Plan of the Gigantia Group. Gozzo, Malta

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If we follow this development from the point of view of space, then we find in the area of the maternal cult a conception that is perfectly foreign to the Euclidian, cubic, spatial structure derived from the pillar. The idea of the cave brought primitive man to a conception of space much more immediate than that of the axially determined cubic space. Cubic space is always experienced as merely the medium in which corporeal things exist. Entering the cave, man sees himself placed inside a natural segment of space, which spreads above him with irregular boundaries, and which can be experienced as the extension of the personality of the person who has entered.66 In this experience lives the germ of an interpretation of space which has much in common with the primitive conception of the vault of heaven.67 As we shall soon see, above all in the Mediterranean East, this heavenly vault is considered to be a huge cave.

Fig. 37 | Plan of Carrowkeel Mountain. Ireland

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The influence already suggested above—of the Megalithic on this maternal, earth-and-cave oriented principle—can be plotted in two directions: first, in the religious area, where clearly the effort will be to connect the procreative ancestor god with the cult of the maternal; second, however, in the purely formal area, and here there is a clear urge to architecturalize the cave with the aid of Megalithic slab and pillar elements and, at the same time, to draw it from the underground up into the region of light, that is, to transform it into an above-ground building.68 As we shall see, both tendencies succeed only partially, since the maternal, the underground, defends itself against such a separation from its proper sphere. Hence the cave-like and, above all, the underground, earthly character of these compromise solutions is always preserved. Unfortunately here I can only touch quite fleetingly upon the individual phases of this interesting process. In the Maltese island group in the central Mediterranean, we encounter powerful, mysterious buildings, apparently dating from the Neolithic Age, which

Fig. 38 | Reconstruction of the Temple Apse. Mnaidra, Malta

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Fig. 39 | Limestone Statuette. Malta

Fig. 40 | Relief. Hal-Tarxien, Malta

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have an extraordinary double meaning.69 They consist, as the plan shows [Fig. 36], of symmetrically laid-out apsidal spaces arranged in tandem. These spaces emanate from a middle axis, whose termination is marked by a smaller apse.The model is obviously in underground tomb layouts, as a comparison with a genuine Megalithic tomb construction in Carrowkeel (Ireland) makes clear [Fig. 37].70 The Maltese buildings are constructed in a quite Megalithic way from powerful slabs and pillars, but there can be no doubt that they were vaulted, in this fashion: each succeeding row of stone slabs always projected beyond the row below. Thus a roof came into being, a so-called false vault, as the reconstruction of one of these Maltese temples by the Italian architect Ceschi makes clear [Fig. 38].71 Apparently these powerful stone buildings imitate underground tomb structures.72 To be sure, they themselves are not underground, but neither are they free-standing structures, but a remarkable kind of in-between thing: they are pushed into hillsides, or where they are not hidden by a slope, they are set into a kind of embankment, so that only a part of the space lies above the earth, whereas its lower half is actually underground.73 For a long time one could not come to an agreement about the meaning of this architecture. However, excavations of recent years have made it clear that we have temples before us, dedicated to a chthonic fertility goddess, a kind of Cybele or Earth Mother.74 Numerous statuettes of naked, fat women prove this, among them a cult statue of considerable size, which unfortunately was preserved only in fragments [Fig. 39].75 Moreover, positive findings revealed that in the same temples a god of procreation was also worshipped. This is indicated by not only the menhirs, which were placed in niches, but also by cone-shaped stones which stood on individ-

Fig. 41 | Reliefs with Representations of Phalli. Malta

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Fig. 42 |Tombstone in the Shape of a House. Cerveteri

Fig. 43 |Tomb cippus. Cerveteri

ual bases, and finally by representations in relief whose nature can hardly be doubted [Fig. 41].76 Other reliefs show the naked, fat women of the abovementioned statuettes, and between them a column, which is surely to be explained as a phallic symbol [Fig. 40].77 This combination of the worship of a maternal being with the cult of a god of procreation can also be established in other sanctuaries of the mother goddess outside of Malta. Perhaps we can recognize in this a union of the Megalithic ancestor cult with the Eastern mother cult,78 and in the phallic symbols which were set up in apses and under vaults,79 signs of a male procreative deity-even the ancestor god. His presence in the holy body of the Earth Mother can be interpreted only in the context of the hieros gamos,80 the holy wedding of the Western ancestor god with the Oriental mother goddess. She, as a cave or as a vaulted building imitating a cave, surrounds the phallus set up in it, the phallus whose tomb the cave also represents. We still find the same notion in Greek fertility cults, like the Attic Skirophoria,81 in which (among other things) reproductions of phalli, and what amount to the same thing—pinecones and clay snakes—were thrown down into underground cave spaces (megara),82 which were nothing other than the body of Mother Earth. Now we understand better the remarkable double meaning of these buildings. The cave-like nature befits them as temples of the earth goddess;83 indeed this cave is nothing other than the holy, fertile womb of the earth itself.84 Indeed the name Cybele, if the etymology is correct, means kubelon, that is “cave” or “cham-

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Fig. 44 | Hal Saflieni. Malta

ber.”85 As sanctuary of the procreative ancestor god, the building aspires to light and to architectonic shaping. As temple of the mother divinity, it cannot give up its connection with the earth. Thus these buildings are nothing but architecturalized caves,86 the old thalamoi or megara of the goddess brought above ground. Their vaulting could now be imitated above ground through the Megalithic construction of the false vault.87 In the opposite way, the artificial tomb cave of Hal Saflieni on Malta [Fig. 44] fully imitates the forms of an aboveground Megalithic architecture. It seems that the stimulus for this architecturalizing of the cave-realized in a Megalithic sense derived from the form of the round building. This form, along with the Iranian-Taurian village culture from the East,88 burst into the central Mediterranean toward the end of the Neolithic period. The numerous vaulted spring sanctuaries, especially in Sardinia, permit quite similar observations, which I unfortunately cannot go further into here. Farther, to the east and to the west, we find the same architectural form in use as a tomb. Here also the tomb cave, which is nothing other than the body of the Earth Mother, the omphalos gēs in which the dead person rests,89 at the same time is changed into a house, much like one belonging to the living. In connection

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Fig. 45 |“Tomb of Atreus.” Mycenae

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with this belongs the remarkable observation that in the Etruscan cemeteries of Cerveteri in southern Etruria, little replicas of houses [Fig. 42] stand over the tombs of women, whereas little columns or cippi [Fig. 43], that is to say phalli, were placed over the tombs of men.90 Corresponding to the phalli, these little houses represent the womb of the female, and in a broader sense, the Earth Mother herself, just as the phallus on the tombs of the men first of all represents the procreative power of the dead man. Then, more generally conceived, it represents the ancestor god, the hero himself, into whose place step Eros,91 Zeus Meilichios,92 or in the East, the sun god, Apollo-Helios,93Attis, or the Daktyloi.94 In connection with this may stand that part of the initiation rites of the cult of Meter, in which the mysta-turnedgod penetrates the pastas or the thalamos,95 the wedding chamber of the goddess, where she awaits the hieros gamos. By this space is again meant that cubiculum, which finally, just as the above-mentioned underground megara, represents the omphalos ges, the body of the goddess herself, at the same time her temple and her holy house. At Mycenae [Fig. 45] the hero, the divine ancestor, lies in the womb of the maternal earth.96 As a domed building, it represents the ancient house and grants an aboveground entrance while still remaining hidden under a mound. Fundamentally, however, even this domed building is seen to be nothing other than an architecturalization of the original tomb cave, in which the heroized dead man is found, like Horus in the house of Hathor, that is, in the body of his mother, or taking the place of the ancestor god,97 somewhat as Zeus Meilichios celebrates the hieros gamos, the sacred marriage with the goddess. At any rate, one must here reckon with the possibility that another conception also plays a role, namely the idea of the world cave. The tomb, as the rosettes on the vaulting of the dome seem to attest, is transformed into the world cave.We shall presently have to deal with this more thoroughly. Already in the pre-Greek period the tomb, as well as the sanctuaries of the earth goddess, exhibits not only a close attachment to the cave-like and earthly, but also a tendency toward architecturalization and, in relation to this, a striving for ascension into the upper world. Quite recently at Locri (province of Reggio Calabria in southern Italy) an interesting find in a Hellenistic cave sanctuary of the Nymphs (which are nothing other than earth goddesses) has demonstrated, in three phases and with the greatest desirable clarity, this tendency to architecturalize the cave-like. Among the grave offerings which were found in this cave were also discovered replicas of the cave sanctuary in terracotta.98 It is possible to differentiate three groups.The first group of these votives shows a quite natu-

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Fig. 46 | Grotto of the Nymphs.Votive Relief

Fig. 47 | Spring Grotto. Clay Model, Locri

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Fig. 48 | Spring Sanctuary. Clay Model, Locri

Fig. 49 | Spring Sanctuary. Reconstruction

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Fig. 50 | Doryphoros

ral stalactite cavern—obviously the original state of the sanctuary [Fig. 47], as we also know it from numerous Greek votive reliefs dedicated to the Nymphs [Fig. 46]. The second group presents a quite changed picture [Fig. 48]. Now in front of the grotto is a projecting structure in the form of an aedicula (which in the illustration is for the most part broken away), and in the back wall there is clearly a niche smoothed out or constructed. The third group obviously represents the latest state of the sanctuary. In a reconstruction reproduced here [Fig. 49] one clearly recognizes an outer façade constructed from polygonal stones. In the inner part, however, the cave itself is transformed into an apse, which contains individual niches and a basin into which the holy spring water streams from lion spouts. The architecturalization of the cave99—its transformation into a vaulted

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space provided with niches, yet still remaining an underground space—has been carried out.100 This series of votive gifts (which also presents a number of additional transitional forms, which I cannot specify here) is adduced as supplementary, welcome evidence for the thesis of the origin of the vault from the idea of the cave. In Greek architecture vaulting played a small role, just as, in the official religion, the underground earth or fertility gods and daemons were of little importance, and little concern was evidenced about the existence of man after death. Greek man was devoted to the sun, to life, and to earthly existence. His conception was a decidedly sensual-physical one, fond of the sculptural and the beautiful. His visual art was sculptural [Fig. 50], as was his architecture, which was composed from corporeal elements, among which the supporting column and the loaded entablature played the prominent role. They were the actors in the dramatic nature of Greek architecture, in the tectonic conflict, which decidedly was a matter of bodies. Thus the Greek column seems to be related to the statue; the temple itself being nothing other than a sculpture, a sculpturally-formed housing for the cult statue, into which the faithful as a rule found no admittance, since the actual religious ceremonies took place outside, at the altar in front of the temple. Greek art in its very essential features grew out of that part of the Mediterranean nature which we have characterized as the male or the phallic—from that development which shows itself to be religious in terms of the procreative nature of the spirit of the ancestor, of the heroes, or of the procreative nature gods. Formally, however, it discloses its identity in the menhir, in the Megalithic system of articulation, and in rendering tangible the idea of eternal duration through the monumental. This aristocratic class of the Greeks cared little for the gloomy, the earthly, and the pregnant. The old earth divinities were either newly cast in luminous forms, like Persephone, or lingered in popular religion and played an indeed powerful, mounting role in superstition, but seldom in the regions of the artistic or the poetic. With the emergence of Italic-Roman art, the sculptural-corporeal nature of the Greeks was replaced by something quite new. The Italic-Roman is associated with that part of the Mediterranean that manifests itself in the cave-like: consequently its complete renunciation of the sculptural and the columnar in the Greek sense. The creative nature of the Italic-Roman no longer expresses itself, as does the Greek, in sculpture, but instead speaks through the architecture of space. Sculpture is now imported by the Romans—but only in the form of

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Fig. 51 |Vase Painting. Grave Tumulus

Fig. 52 |Tumulus Grave in Caere (Cerveteri)

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Fig. 53 |The Mausoleum of Augustus. Hypothetical Reconstruction

decoratively-used borrowings from their Greek possessions. The nude male body, which in the statuary form of Greek art takes the place of the phallus of prehistory, remains foreign to the Italics. They produced nothing creative in this category of the plastic arts.Vaulted space takes the place of the columnar and of the corporeally articulated as the logical development of the concept of the cave in Mediterranean prehistory.The process of the ascent of cave architecture from the underground to the surface of the earth, and running parallel to it, the spherical modeling of interior space by means of the matter (earth) sublimated into a wall, can be followed in early Roman architecture. The powerful round tombs of the imperial period are architecturalized tumuli [Figs. 51, 52], in whose krepis (foundations) one finds prefigured the germ of later walled architecture.101 These tumuli represent nothing other than heaps of earth, which are driven up out of the underground into the light. They contain a tomb chamber constructed in the Megalithic style or a stone box; this is now the aboveground house of the dead, which still lies deep under the earth. Even the mausoleum of Augustus [Fig. 53] is crowned with a mound of earth and planted with trees, whereby its descent from massive grave mounds heaped with earth is clearly expressed.

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Fig. 54 |Tomb of Caecilia Metella

Fig. 55 |Tor de’Schiavi. Mausoleum

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Fig. 56 | Spring Sanctuary of Lumarzu. Sardinia

Fig. 57 | Reconstruction of the Exedra of Herodes Atticus. Olympia

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However, on the peak of the mound stands the statue of the emperor, which here takes the place which the phallus occupies in Near Eastern tumuli.102 In the same way one must imagine the termination of the tomb-monument of Caecilia Metella on the Via Appia to be a planted mound [Fig. 54]. In the bulky poured-concrete structure, which here takes the place of the earth, only quite narrow tomb chambers are left open. From this tomb type, which confronts us again in the round building of Hadrian, gradually emerge, through the enlargement of the tomb chamber, such late-antique tomb forms as the Mausoleum of Tor de’ Schiavi near Rome [Fig. 55].103 Now for the first time, the entire concrete structure is hollowed out into a gigantic vaulted space. In the Republican period, vaulting as a rule prevails above all in subterranean spaces, such as sewers, the spaces in the foundations of temples, and in baths. Similarly, nymphaea with their niches, such as the exedrafountain of Herodes Atticus at Olympia [Fig. 57],104 are nothing other than architecturalized caves in a later phase, which still can be seen in their original form in numerous Greek votive reliefs dedicated to the Nymphs [see Fig. 46]. In the central Mediterranean area, these fountain sanctuaries, as the spring sanctuary of Lumarzu in Sardinia shows [Fig. 56], were transformed quite early into a Megalithic vaulted building. Only secondarily, and especially in the complicated monuments of a later period, the effect of the articulated theater wall, the scaenae frons, is added to the spring sanctuary. In baths perhaps, the vaulted, peculiarly dark spaces (e.g., Stabian baths at Pompeii) still partially stand in a tradition behind the most primitive sense of the bath as an immersion in the healing subterranean waters of Mother Earth, for these waters, already in the Megalithic period, must have remained shrouded in darkness.Therefore, they were vaulted over with cupolas or apses using the corbel vaulting technique.105 But also in sanctuaries the cult spaces, which from the outside still adhere to the form of the Greek temple, were ever more frequently provided with an apse on the inside, from the Sullan period on.106 This was, as in the temple of the maternal Fortuna at Praeneste,107 very similar to the apse of the temple on Malta, pushed into the slope of the mountain, perhaps also here as well in order to maintain contact with the earth. After all, the Praenestine apse was in a significant way clearly characterized as a cave by the attachment of artificial stalactites. Whether it be in imitation of the old grottoes of the Earth Mother, or whether it be (as we shall soon see) under the influence of an ever more powerful conception of the world cave enveloping earth and heaven, gods and men, after the second century after Christ, all temples were vaulted [Fig. 58].

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Fig. 58 |Temple of Venus and Roman, Section. Rome

Just as, in the Neolithic temple of Malta, niches in the form of apses contained the menhir, so now the apses take in the cult image of the god. The time draws near in which the believer enters into the sanctuary itself, which envelops him with its divine or holy atmosphere. Here the believer now performs his ritual actions. Accordingly, the statue also enters into an intimate relation with the holy envelope; its existence is henceforth inseparably bound to the vaulted space, to the sense of the wall that creates a special sphere for the holy image. Outwardly, however, as in the Pantheon [see Fig. 2], the Greek façade, articulated in individual members, remains as a screen, although it is only with the greatest difficulty that it maintains its relationship with the interior space of the building’s vaulted structure.With the beginning of the Late Antique period, even this Greek articulation in individual elements, often only outwardly attached, becomes less and less important. In the block buildings of the imperial baths or the imperial tombs, the cave-like quality of this architecture appears more and more clearly. As in the ancient buildings of Malta or in the tumulus graves, now a block of earth seems to rise out of the deep [Fig. 59]. In them, as in the Christian rock churches of the Middle Ages (cited by Evers in a similar train of thought), the space is hollowed out. Long ago Roman architecture completely renounced the dressed stone as the modular element of the building, and thereby transformed the Megalithic character of primitive times into an internally uniform, unaccentuated stereometry of masses.This change, to be sure, did not touch the essence of the axially determined conception of ancient Mediterranean space, for the new stereometry still remained oriented toward the lines of gravity. But the character of articulation in individual members had disappeared and had quite disintegrated in the uniform modeling of the wall masses introduced at the time of Sulla.108 Neither pillar nor column plays a really essential role any more. Solid cast concrete took their place, as it were, as a

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Fig. 59 | Minerva Medica (Model)

substitute for earth—the temples of Malta still possess a filler of earth and stone between outer and inner façades of double walls109—and, as a further sublimation of the former blocks of earth, the mortar wall. As the spaces under the earth were once hollowed out, so now the inner spaces and the remaining forms of architecture are modeled with the help of the amorphous mortar.110 Windows and doors, however, were either left vacant or cut out from the fabric of the wall block or from the wall itself—quite in opposition to the Greek architectural procedure of the plastic and corporeal articulation of individual members [Fig. 61], in which the opening signifies not a cut into the modeling material but only the space between things, which in ashlar masonry results from a tectonically safe omission. However, while space, as once in the nuraghe [Fig. 60], is hollowed out or reserved from the bulk of the still quite massive block, it changes into a stereometrically marked-off block space, whose form as spatial boundary is contained and experienced from inside, in the shells of the apses, barrels and cupolas. Accordingly the mass-block, as one on which this spatial boundary appears, loses its significance, with the above-mentioned progressive sublimation toward a

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Fig. 60 | Structure of the Nuraghe. Section

thinner shell-wall. The mass-block gradually becomes the mere support of this spatial boundary, which also means that it is reduced to a wall in the Late Antique or Byzantine sense. In time a wall gains an artistic effect only as a nonphysical boundary, as the modelling of the space in its mosaic lining [Fig. 62]. However, at the same time the effort to incorporate and to fuse into vaulted architecture the Greek architecture of individually articulated members (which one did not wish to break away from entirely) becomes more serious. Absorption of the column and the entablature into the system of the vault takes the place of simple screening, as in the Pantheon, and of sheathing in the form of the ancient Greek peripteros, as (among others) in the Temple of Venus and Roma in Rome [see Fig. 58]. This absorption had its beginning in the preliminary tying-together of arch and column in the Republican period (Pompeii) at the same time as the development of vaulted architecture itself. It is characteristic that now the column is moved into the inside of the building, where it in no way interferes with the stereometric shaping of the space as a whole, but rather, owing to its auxiliary position and by means of the views which the column permits, the difficult problem of further enhancing and complicating the pure spherical spatial effect finds a definitive solution. Thus the way is paved for an organic union of the vault and the building articulated in individual members,

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Fig. 61 | Hadrian’s Gate. Athens

in which the latter always keeps an assigned, subservient role. The stereometriccubic basis of spatial structure is preserved and then, thanks to its fusion with the subservient system of articulation in individual members, gains that perfect formation which we admire in the pure Italian solutions of the shell architecture building of the Renaissance, whereas the Baroque, in the sense of the original extra-Mediterranean currents, already goes far beyond the true Mediterranean. However, it has to do entirely with the cave-like conception, as it becomes predominant in architecture from the late Republican period on, if the building no longer has an effect as a sculptural body from the outside, like the Greek temple, but instead expresses its entire essence internally in the hollow space. This is the case in a perfectly radical way when the building—in the original Mediterranean sense—quite disappears under the piled-up earth of an artificial tumulus, as in the vaulted tomb building called the “Monte del Grano” in Rome.111 This neglect of functional activity on the exterior can be also observed in the Pantheon, where the nearly undecorated stereometry of the rotunda, still

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Fig. 62 | San Vitale. Ravenna. Apse Mosaic

considered to be offensive, had to be hidden by the Hellenizing plasticity of the porch, which receives the person entering it with its externally-functioning corporeality.112 At the same time the porch takes over the responsibility for the outward representation of the building, a responsibility still felt to be important. It is a clear expression of how bluntly the Roman-Italic and the Greek characters could still face each other in the second century of our era. It is clear that the memory of the underground and the cave-like aspects of the Earth Mother idea alone could not have influenced this development to such a universal extent. In fact, already at a comparatively early time, other conceptions of a more general sort were added. These eventually drew the overall spatial conception of the Romans and of the Late Antique Mediterranean under their spell. Pherecydes of Syros,113 living in the sixth century before Christ, author of a cosmology, and after him the Orphics,114 enlarged the idea of the mother cave into a powerful cosmological conception, which saw the universe itself as a huge cave. Apparently in close connection with this stands the ancient BabylonianIranian conception of the heavens vaulted over the earth as a world cave. The

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Fig. 63 | Mithraeum of San Clemente. Rome

earthly houses of the gods, the temples, as dwellings of the divinity, must also correspond to the world-cave as replicas. Thus the temple or the palace of the king, the representative of divinity on earth, becomes a copy of this cosmic conception, which manifests itself in the representation of the sun, moon and stars on the ceiling of the temple and the palace,115 and culminating in the monumental vault for such buildings. By, at the latest, the fifth century B.C., this Oriental conception of the vault of the heavens also penetrates into the Mediterranean in visual art,116 and toward the end of the Greek classical period, it combines with the conception of the mother cave of the earth, a union which Greek cosmology, as mentioned, had apparently already carried out earlier. One of the champions of this Iranian cosmology, quite un-Greek in its origins, was the cult of Mithras, spreading everywhere in the West in the Late Antique period. Mithras, the god born in the world cave, is worshipped in underground, grotto-like spaces [Fig. 63], which themselves, in quite an Oriental sense, stand for nothing other than the world. Its vault is also decorated with representations of the sun, moon and stars, which are to suggest the vault of the heavens. However, where construction of such a Mithraeum in an underground building had to be dispensed with for technical reasons, the wooden roof of the above-ground

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building was provided with a false vault made of plaster, which at least suggested the cave-like character of the building.117 Here also the substitution of the vault of the cave of the heavens with the architectural vault is quite obvious. The spatial and vaulted architecture of the Late Antique is rooted in these conceptions, which gave rise to an idea of space that profoundly differs from the space-between-objects of the Greek-Euclidian conception. It has nothing at all in common with it. In the Late Antique period a new notion of the endless spanning of space grew from this ancient cosmic theory of the world space and the world cave. This idea of space, realized architecturally, confronts us in the Pantheon, which Cassius Dio compares with the vault of the heavens,118 and leads to the Early Christian domed and vaulted church in a line that extends all the way to Hagia Sophia. Space, following the ancient Iranian model, now becomes the symbol of the other-worldly, transcendent sphere, and its material boundaries are illuminated by the sparkle of mosaics and the starry sky [see Fig. 62], in which the figures of this transcendent world confront the mortal.119 Parallel with it, vitally preserved to our own day in the vaulted crypt, in the baptistery, in the mausoleum, and even in the apse space itself—where it is mixed with thoughts of heaven—is the immediate tradition connected with Mother Earth of the underground, the cave and the holy waters, which Mediterranean religious belief gave birth to.120 If one summarizes the findings of this inquiry—which of necessity had to be confined only to the broad, basic ideas—and if one returns again to our comparison set up at the beginning between the Greek temple and the Pantheon, then the following can be said quite briefly: ancient art divides into two developments which, with regard to their origins and their structural characteristics, are to be sharply separated from one another: into a Greek and an Italic-Roman development. Both developments are the result of the Northern-Eurasian views—brought into the Mediterranean area by the immigrating Greeks and Indo-Germanic Italic peoples—coming to terms with the indigenous Mediterranean character.The difference between the Greek and the Italic-Roman, with regard to these Mediterranean elements, is due essentially to the fact that this coming-to-terms involved for the Greeks a different Mediterranean constant than that encountered by the Italic-Romans. For the Greeks, as we have seen, the character of the Megalithic, the pillar-like, and the phallic plays the principal role. The Northern influence results in a plastic, columnar architecture and a sculptural quality. In the Greek period, man takes the place of the phallus of prehistoric times. His organic essence is translated into the tectonic conflict between weight and support. The Megalithic statics of pure, motionless being

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are internally dramatized and refined into the classical principle of Polykleitos, into motion in rest. The plasticity of the corporeal dominates expression and enlivens the rigid system of the laws of Euclidian space, the sphere of the infinite and the eternal. Space itself in this world of the corporeal is possible only as the space between solids or as the space of the body, that is, space occupied by the body.121 In Italy the Northern comes to terms with the second constant of the Mediterranean, with the cave-like and the maternal, and then later with the related, but further extended, religious-cosmological concepts of the East. By comparison, the simultaneous process—of the formative Italic constants coming to terms with the tectonic statuary character of the Greeks—has only secondary importance, although it determined the look of Roman architecture and sculpture until the third century, even if only externally. However, already in the Flavian period the powerful cave structures of the baths, temples, and imperial palaces come into being with their enormous domes, barrels, and cross vaults. Italic man forms his architecture by hollowing out powerful blocks, which, as Evers has already supposed for the medieval cave-church, are nothing other than pieces of earth itself drawn out into the above ground. Thus from the outside, it has the character of a cubic mass, unbroken by any articulation.That which is articulated in individual members, the column- and pillar-like—the corporeal as plastic organization—remains foreign to the true Roman-Italic structure. After a temporary assimilation it is pushed out from the core of the creative Italic-Etruscan essence, and it remains almost separate from the newly developing spheric-cubic vaulted building. It merges with the basic principles of the Italic for the first time in the Flavian period (the Palace of the Flavians on the Palatine). When Italic man designs in a seemingly sculptural way, he forms the building, to be sure, for the most part according to Greek models, but the structure of the true Italic sculptural form originally has nothing to do with the corporeal shaping of the Greek. This structure also works, even as Italic-Roman architecture does, with the abstract-stereometric forms of spherical space [Fig. 64], as I have attempted to prove in another place. Its structure, which fundamentally consists of cylinder- and sphere-forms, and which decidedly possesses the character of a boundary, can only be understood as the forerunner of later stereometric-spherical organization of vaults and apses in Italic-Roman architecture. Everything of a statuary nature which Rome produced is modified or directly-copied Greek art, which is incorporated into the Italic-Roman structure in the course of the individual phases of coming-toterms that are characterized as the respective stylistic phases of Roman art.122

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Fig. 64 | Pantheon. Rome. Section

This Italic-Roman structure seems temporarily to drown out Greek art entirely. The creative genius of the Italic, corresponding to the spherical-cubic nature of Italic structure, manifests itself not in sculpture, but in the vault and in the walled character of the new architecture, in the shaping of space, which from the third century on became absolutely the leading factor in the Roman-Italic character. The Western art of the Middle Ages and more recent times takes over both these organizational possibilities of the Mediterranean world. Tectonic, columned architecture and three-dimensional sculpture on the one hand, and vaulted space on the other, like pre-formed entities are filled with new contents and with a unique feeling for life, and in this penetration they definitely merge with one another. Thus the primary organizations of form handed down by the ancient Mediterranean cultures were subjected to a second shaping, from which the styles of the Middle Ages and the modern period grow. In the Mediterranean area itself, and above all in Italy, the system of fundamental forms predominates, as one would expect; that means both the innate Italic stereometric organization of the static vault and the form already adopted in the Roman period—of columns linked with the entablature.The merging of these forms into the Italic essence is brought to final perfection by the great

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architects of the Tuscan Renaissance; the foundations remain in a direct community of tradition with the ancient Italic. In the South this development is in no way dissolved nor is its existence in any way threatened by a new shaping. In the North, on the contrary, the activity moving everything drowns out the form inherited from the Mediterranean, a form that was, however, fundamentally foreign. Active intent, either irrational movement or imposed pattern, pushes the objective, existential attitude back into second place, as in the Northern Gothic or the South German Baroque. In the North, the Mediterranean is always in danger of being consumed or deformed beyond recognition. This danger of total spiritualization (and with it the disappearance of the sensuous-objective into ornament) that lurks in the action’s becoming too powerful can only be countered by strengthening objective perception as the ancients did. Again and again, for the genius this side of the Alps, nature first becomes visible objectively through the classically modeled as form, and in consideration for “appearance,” it avoids the grasping of its own tumultuous will-to-form. For this genius cannot perceive nature without running the risk of destroying while ordering it. It cannot experience nature without violently distorting, breaking, or dissolving its forms, whether through the predominance of the desire for expression or by fading into a fantastic dream world.

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NOTES

Introduction 1

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6 7

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10 11 12 13

In this introduction, I use the term “Structural Analysis” instead of the German term Strukturforschung to refer to this school and its methodology. The reader should bear in mind that the Vienna Structuralists in the field of art history were in no way historically connected with the anthropologie structurale of Claude Lévi-Strauss. For a direct comparison of the two methodologies, see S. Nodelman, “Structural Analysis in Art and Anthropology,” Yale French Studies: Structuralism 36-37 (1966): 89-103. H. Sedlmayr, “Zu einer strengen Kunstwissenschaft,” Kunstwissenschaftliche Forschungen (1931), 1: 7-32; J. von Schlosser, “Die Wiener Schule der Kunstgeschichte,” Mitteilungen des Österreichischen Instituts für Kunstwissenschaftliche Forschungen, Ergänzungs-Band 13, Heft 2 (1934): 145 ff.; B. Schweitzer, “Strukturforschung in Archäologie und Vorgeschichte,” Neue Jahrbücher für antike und deutsche Bildung (1938), 1: 162 ff., reprinted in Zur Kunst der Antike, (Tübingen,1963), 1: 17997; B. Schweitzer, “Das Problem der Form in der Kunst der Altertums,” Handbuch der Archäologie, ed. W. Otto (Munich, 1939), 1: 363-99; R. Bianchi-Bandinelli, Storicità dell’Arte Classica, 2nd ed. (Florence, 1950), xv-xxxii; F. Matz, Geschichte der griechischen Kunst (Frankfurt, 1950), 1: 1-36, with a list of works by Structural Analysts in the field of archaeology, 9-11, mainly by Kaschnitz, Matz, and V. Müller. Mittelmeerische Kunst: eine Darstellung ihrer Struktur [Mediterranean Art: An Account of its Structure], Ausgewählte Schriften, ed. P. H. von Blanckenhagen and H. von Heintze (Berlin, 1965), 3: 1-21. Kaschnitz, Mittelmeerische Kunst, 3-4. O. Brendel, “Prolegomena to a Book on Roman Art,” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome (1953): 7-73; republished in Prolegomena to the Study of Roman Art (New Haven, 1979), 1-137. See Brendel’s discussion of Riegl in the 1979 edition, 31-37. Kaschnitz, Mittelmeerische Kunst, 5. Gnomon 5 (1929): 195 ff.; see also H. Sedlmayr, “Riegls Erbe: Guido von Kaschnitz-Weinberg und die Universalgeschichte der Kunst,” Hefte des kunsthistorischen Seminars der Universität München 4 (1959): 1-24. Kaschnitz, Mittelmeerische Kunst, 4-13. T. Hetzer, Giotto: seine Stellung in der europäischen Kunst (Frankfurt, 1944); collected with essays on Giotto in Giotto: Grundlegung der neuzeitlichen Kunst, Schriften Theodor Hetzers, vol. 1, ed. G. Berthold (Stuttgart, 1981), with a list of all of Hetzer’s writings, 287-305. H. Sedlmayr, Die Architektur Borrominis (Berlin, 1930). Sedlmayr, “Zu einer strengen Kunstwissenschaft.” Brendel, Prolegomena (1979), 109-18. Brendel, Prolegomena (1979), 113.

14 15 16 17

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20 21

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24 25

26 27

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Kaschnitz, Mittelmeerische Kunst, 3. Lecture,Yale University, spring, 1979. Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft 13 (1944): 23-68. Römische Mitteilungen 59 (1944): 89 ff.; reprinted in Kleine Schriften zur Struktur, Ausgewählte Schriften, ed. H. von Heintze (Berlin, 1965), 1: 109-45. L. Lévy-Bruhl, La mentalité primitive (Paris, 1922); German trans., Die Seele der Primitiven (Vienna and Leipzig, 1930). A. Dieterich, Mutter Erde, Ein Versuch über Volksreligion [Mother Earth. A Study of Primitive Religion] (Berlin, 1905). P. Sarasin, Helios und Keraunos oder Gott und Geist (Innsbruck, 1924). G. Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten: ein Beitrag zur semitischen und allgemeinen Religionsgeschichte. Schriften der Strassburger Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft in Heidelberg, neue Folge 4 Heft (Berlin and Leipzig, 1921). R. Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt. Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Urgeschichte des antiken Weltbildes [Mantle of the World and Vault of Heaven. A Religious-Historical Investigation of the Pre-history of the Ancient Image of the World], 2 vols. (Munich, 1910). A. Koerte, “Kleinasiatische Studien IV. Ein altphrygischer Tumulus bei Bos-öjük (Lamunia),” Athenische Mitteilungen 24 (1899): 10. F. Maurer, “Der Phallusdienst bei den Israeliten und Babyloniern,” Globus 92 (1907): 256 ff. F. Löwitsch, “Raumempfinden und moderne Baukunst,” Imago. Zeitschrift für Anwendung der Psychoanalyse auf die Natur- und Geisteswissenschaften 14 (1928): 305. Kaschnitz, Mittelmeerische Kunst, 6. V. Scully, The Earth, the Temple and the Gods (New Haven, 1962, 1979). Scully’s book is organized both chronologically and thematically. His debt to Kaschnitz is clearest in his first chapter, “The Great Goddess and the Lords,” where he establishes the guiding principles of his research. The landscape is sacred. In primitive Greek thought, mounds, conical hills, and mountain peaks were the breasts or belly of the mother goddess. Rocky cliffs, like the Phaidriades at Delphi, were similarly personified, usually representing the upright, phallic, male deities and were balanced or opposed by the prismatic mass of the temple. The temples, then, are the bodies of the gods and goddesses. Nodelman, “Structural Analysis,” 90.

The Mediterranean Foundations of Ancient Art 1

2

3

Mediterranean foundations of ancient art: The present study essentially corresponds with a lecture given in the spring of 1943 to the Culture-Morphology Society in Frankfurt-am-Main, to the German-Greek Society in Hamburg, and to the Society of Friends of the Humanistic Gymnasium in Marburg-an-der-Lahn. Related to this study, and containing in part expanded observations, is the essay: “Über den Begriff des Mittelmeerischen in der vorchristlichen Kunst” (“On the Concept of the Mediterranean in Pre-Christian Art”), Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft 13 (1948): 23 ff. C. Schnaase, Geschichte der bildenden Künste (Düsseldorf, 1866); cf. also C. Töwe, Die Formen der entwickelnden Kunstgeschichtschreibung (Berlin, 1939), 81 ff., and L. K. McMillan, “Die Kunst- und Geschichtsphilosophie Karl Schnaases” (Diss. Bonn, 1933). Acccumulation of knowledge and material: cf. H. Weigert, Die heutigen Aufgaben der Kunstwissenschaft. Kunstwissenschaftliche Studien, 17 (Berlin, 1935), 17 ff.

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Pre-Greek Religion: U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Aischylos: Das Opfer am Grabe (Choephoren). Griechische Tragödien 8 (Berlin, 1913), Introduction, 124 ff. and Eumeniden, Introduction, 227 ff.; W. F. Otto, Die Götter Griechenlands (Frankfurt, 1934), 21 ff., 176 ff. Prehistoric cultures of the Mediterranean: cf. G. Kaschnitz-Weinberg, “Über den Begriff des Mittelmeerischen in der Vorchristlichen Kunst,” Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft 13 (1944): 23-68. For the best general orientation: C. Schuchhardt, Alteuropa. Die Entwicklung seiner Kulturen und Völker (4th edition, Berlin 1941). Megalithic cultures: A general characterization, though not believable throughout, in O. Spengler, “Zur Weltgeschichte des zweiten vorchristlichen Jahrtausends (I.Tartessos und Alaschja),” Die Welt als Geschichte. Zeitschrift für universalgeschichtliche Forschung 1 (1935): 41 ff. On the Mediterranean origin of the Megalithic structures: cf. O. Menghin, Weltgeschichte der Steinzeit (Vienna, 1931), 67 ff.; C. A. Nordman, The Megalithic Culture of Northern Europe (Helsinki, 1935), 76 ff. Powers of a spiritual and daemonic nature: cf. the excellent characterization of Hubert-MaussDurkheim-Lévy-Bruhl concerning the development of animism in F. R. Lehmann, ed., Mana, der Begriff des “ausserordentlich Wirkungsvollen” bei Südseevölkern (Leipzig, 1922), 96: “The object of concern in the process of cultural development is the ‘life-power’ itself. Felt at first only anonymously and only in the needs and physical means of representations typical of the primal society, the ‘life power’ will be, in the course of time, always more clearly represented, and will progress from an originally impersonal power to animistic concepts like soul, spirit, and god.” Energies captive in objects (λίθοι ἔμψυχοι, βαίτυλος): R. M. Meyer, “Fetischismus,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 11 (1908): 320 ff.; E. Reisch,“Ἀργοι λίθοι,” Pauly-Wissowa, Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 2, 1, col. 723 ff.; Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten, 2; E. Maass,“Heilige Steine,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 78 (1929), 1-25; M. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion (Munich, 1941), 184 ff. Naturally there are a great number of ethnological proofs, cf. among others R. Karsten, The Origins of Religion (London, 1935), 116 ff.; L. Lévy-Bruhl, Das Denken der Naturvölker (Vienna, 1926), 326; A. Kruijt, Het Animisme in dem indischen archipel (Gravenhage, 1906), 66 ff.; E. Arbmann, “Seele und Mana,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 29 (1931): 304 ff. uses the concept “dynamistic” instead of the term “animistic.” “The thing simply works by virtue of an indwelling mystical potentiality.” High esteem of stone: cf. Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten, 8; R. Smend, Lehrbuch der alttestamentlichen Religionsgeschichte, 2nd ed., (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1899), 130. Powers in unusually shaped stones: cf. a stalagmite surrounded by a wall and worshipped as holy in a cave at Eileithyia on Crete, Marinatos, S. “ΑΝΑΣΚΑΦΑΙ ΕΝ ΚΡΗΤΗ, 1930,” Praktika te¯s en Athe¯nais Archaiologike¯s Hetaireias (1930), 94, figs. 3 and 4. Cf. also Lévy-Bruhl, Die Seele der Primitiven, 14. The stone as a container of godly or daemonic powers: E. B. Tylor, Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Art, and Custom (London, 1871) 2: 160 and 215 ff.; E. Meyer, “Sitzung vom 3. Juni 1913,” Archäologischer Anzeiger (1913), col. 85; Maas, “Heilige Steine,” 1 ff.; Kruijt, Het Animisme, 203 ff.; Lévy-Bruhl, Die Seele der Primitiven, 14 ff. Gravestone as resident of the soul: cf. Meyer, “Sitzung vom 3. Juni 1913,” col. 85, who also comments on the well-known name of the gravestone in Aramaic: nephes, that is, soul. On which K. Budde, “Zur Bedeutung der Mazzeben,” Orientalistische Literaturzeitung 15 (1912): col. 250. Stones as residences of the spirits of the ancestors: R. Heine-Geldern, “Die Megalithen Südostasiens und ihre Bedeutung für die Klärung der Megalithenfragen in Europa und Polynesien,” Anthropos 23 (1928): 276 ff.; Lévy-Bruhl, Die Seele der Primitiven, 17; J. Röder, review of E. Schneider, Material zu einer Archäologischen Felskunde des Luxemburger Landes (Luxemburg, 1939), in Bonner Jahrbücher 146 (1941): 200. On the phallic nature of erected stones: cf. among others the stone of Thorikos, whose touch confers virility, O. Gruppe,“Die eherne Schwelle und der Thorikische Stein,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 16 (1912): 364 ff., an idea which recalls the fertility charm and which even today among the French rural population is connected with the operative power of many menhirs: cf.

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W. Hülle, Die Steine von Carnac (Leipzig, 1942) and the Greek Agyieus; G. van der Leeuw, Phänomenologie der Religion (Tübingen, 1933), 34 f. According to D. M. Key (“Massebah” in J. Hastings, ed., Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics 8, 248) the name of Palestinian menhirs, massebah, is to be derived from “to erect.” On the phallically-conceived stone monument, cf. L. Deubner, “Der ithyphallische Hermes,” Corolla Ludwig Curtius zum sechzigsten Geburtstag dargebracht (Stuttgart, 1937), 204. On the phallic meaning of stone columns in Palestine, cf. H. Spoer, “Versuch einer Erklärung des Zusammenhanges zwischen Dolmen, Mal- und Schalensteinen in Palästina,” Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 28 (1908): 271 ff.; P. Thomsen, “Menhir: PalästinaSyrien,” in Ebert, Reallexikon der Vorgeschichte 8: 142; E. Sellin, “Zu der ursprünglichen Bedeutung der Mazzeben,” Orientalistische Literaturzeitung 15 (1912): col. 119-126 and “Nochmals die ursprünglichen Bedeutung der Mazzeben,” Orientalistische Literaturzeitung 15 (1912): col. 371374. Phallus: On the cultic and religious meaning of the phallus, cf. H. Herter, “Phallos,” PaulyWissowa, Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 19: 2, col. 1681 ff. On the phallus as bearer of life: I. Lublinski, “Eine mythische Urschicht vor dem Mythos,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 22 (1923/24) 165 ff.; as giver of fertility: Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1689 f.; as guardian of the procreative power of the ancestor: Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1732; in Greece and elsewhere: Dieterich, Mutter Erde, 104 f. Cf. also the Etruscan conception of the “Genius,” F. Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom (Giessen, 1930), 49 ff., against which Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1720 f., and the elusive meaning of the Egyptian Ka, cf. K. Lang, “Ka, Seele und Leib bei den alten Ägyptern,”Anthropos 20 (1925), 59, 69, and 75, and H. Jacobsohn,“Einige Merkwürdigkeiten der altägyptischen Theologie und ihre Auswirkungen,”Studi e Materiali di Storia delle Religioni 16 (1940): 83-97. Menhir: W. Bremer, “Menhir,” in Ebert, Reallexikon für Vorgeschichte 8: 138 f.; E. Jung, “Irminsul und Rolandsäule,” Mannus 17 (1925): 1 ff.; Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 79 f.; R. A. S. Macalister, “The Goddess of Death in Bronze Age Art,” Ipek 2 (1926): 255 takes the menhir to be the image of a female goddess of death. In addition, cf. the Ashera-Astarte of the Old Testament. Even here the phallic nature of the pillar is quite unimportant—and this is why: because it has to do with a secondary form, taking the place of the holy tree of the vegetation goddess. Actually, however, there are also menhirs with sculpturally carved breasts. All the same it seems to us that this layer of meaning is secondary, just as the doubling of the block’s surface with one provided with markings of the male sex, the other with those of the female sex; cf. also O. Gruppe, Bursians Jahresbericht. Supplementband 186. Bericht über die Literatur zur antiken Mythologie und Religionsgeschichte aus den Jahren 1906-1917 (Leipzig, 1921): 113. Here one comes even sooner to the double-sexed representation of the ancestor, which is again reflected in many Mediterranean images of gods in historical times. Cf. J. Przyluski, “Ursprünge und Entwicklung der Muttergöttin,” Eranos Jahrbuch 6 (1938): 27. J. Winthuis, Das Zweigeschlechterwesen bei den Zentralaustraliern und andern Völkern (Leipzig, 1929) and Einführung in die Vorstellungswelt primitiver Völker (Leipzig, 1931), 181 ff. deals with the problems in the area of ethnology which belong here. Perhaps the enigma of the phallus-gravestone, which L. Curtius, “Phallosgrabmal im Museum von Smyrna,” Die Wissenschaft am Scheidewege von Leben und Geist: Festschrift Ludwig Klages zum 60. Geburtstag, 10. Dezember 1932 (Leipzig, 1932), 19 ff. has posed, can be solved in this way. Menhirs in Palestine and in Transjordan: Thomsen, “Menhir: Palästina-Syrien,” 140 ff.; Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten, 2 ff.; P. M. J. Lagrange, Études sur les religions sémitiques (Paris, 1905), 192 ff.; P. Karge, Rephaim (Paderborn, 1925). Relationship between power (mana) and soul: cf. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, 52 f. Also the representation of the winged phallus is interpreted by different scholars as the bird of the soul or the butterfly of the soul; cf.W.Wundt, Völkerpsychologie. Eine Untersuchung der Entwicklungsgesetze von Sprache, Mythos und Sitte (Leipzig), vol. 4, pt. 2, 297; O Immisch, “Sprachliches zum Seelenschmetterling,” Glotta 6 (1915): 193 ff.; Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1723. The old equation: soul of the dead—snake—phallus would point in the same direction. Among the Maori and other peoples of the Oceanic Megalithic area, there is believed to be a close connection between

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“procreative ability, or the state of the penis, and great courage,” K. Preuss, “Der Ursprung der Religion und Kunst,” Globus. Illustrierte Zeitschrift für Länder- und Völkerkunde 87 (1905): 415. Menhir as gravestone: Z. Le Rouzic, “Morphologie et chronologie des sépultures préhistoriques du Morbihan,” L’Anthropologie 43 (1933): 225 ff. and 254; Hülle, Die Steine von Carnac, 69 ff.; Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten, 6. On the ancient belief in the identity of vital power (thumos) and procreative power (phallus): Cf. F. Pfister, review of V. Gebhard, Die Pharmakoi in Ionien und die Sybakchoi in Athen (Amberg, 1926) in Gnomon 5 (1929): 97. Procreative power = power itself: Cf. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Der Glaube der Hellenen (Berlin, 1932) 2: 159 ff., whose opinion is that even in the Greek sense, the phallus was conceived quite generally as the expression or symbol of power, and not only of procreative power. Trophies: cf. Herodotus 2.102; Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten, 7. The gravestone as substitute body of the dead man: In Greece, E. F. Bruck, Totenteil und Seelgerät im griechischen Recht (Munich, 1926), 203; A. W. Persson, The Royal Tombs at Dendra near Midea (Lund, 1931), 108 ff.; B. Schweitzer, review of A. Persson, The Royal Tombs of Dendra near Midea (Lund, 1931), in Gnomon 9 (1933): 181 f.; J.Wiesner, Grab und Jenseits: Untersuchungen im ägäischen Raum zur Bronzezeit und frühen Eisenzeit. Religionsgeschichte Versuche und Vorarbeiten 26 (Berlin, 1938), 84 f.; J. F. Crome, “ΙΠΠΑΡΧΕΙΟΙ ΕΡΜΑΙ,” Athenische Mitteilungen 60/61 (1935/356): 304 ff.; E. van Hall, Over den Oorsprong van de Grieksche Grafstele (Allard Pierson Stichting, Archaeologisch-Historische Bijdragen, 9, Amsterdam, 1942), 69 ff., 80, also on the concept of the kolossos and the related literature.The belief that the stone body (leaving out the well-known Egyptian usage) replaces the lost body is documented even in the Greek period, and led to the setting up of statues. As far as the appeasement of the manes of the slain is concerned, insofar as one offers him a new body in the statue, cf. Justin, epit. Pomp.Trog. 20.2, where he is speaking of fifty youths who were killed by the Cortonians and Metapontines and for whom standing images were set up; cf. also O. Weinreich, “Antike Heilungswunder: Untersuchungen zum Wunderglauben der Griechen und Römer,” Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten 8 (1909/10): 149. The gravestone as residence of the procreative power of the dead man: cf. Curtius, “Phallosgrabmal im Museum von Smyrna,” 23 f. and the related observations of other authors such as J. A. Delaure, Die Zeugung in Glauben, Sitten und Bräuchen der Völker, translated and expanded by F. S. Kraus and K. Reiskel (Leipzig, 1909), 55, who cites the salacious story of Dionysos and Prosymnos, handed down to us by the church fathers Arnobius and Clement of Alexandria (Arnobii adversus gentes opera lib. 5, 25, vol. 12 in Bibl. Partum eccl. Lat. sel. (Leipzig, 1846); Clement of Alexandria, Logos proptr. Pars Hellenos, Coh. ad gentes, in Patrol. Cursus compl. Ser. Greca, edited by Migne (1857), 8, cap. 2, 83, which unequivocally shows the identification of the grave phallus with the residence of the sexual power of the dead man. On the stone as container of procreative power among the Indians, cf. J. Boulnois Le caducée et la symbolique indo-méditerranéenne de l’arbre, de la pierre, du serpent et de la déesse-mère (Paris, 1939), 7 ff. and in phallic form (Nâgakkâl), 37. Phallus gravestone: Literature collected by Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1728 ff. The soul of the ancestor as identical with his procreative power: cf. E. Bethe “Die dorische Knabenliebe: Ihre Ethik und ihre Idee,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie, Geschichte und griechische Philosophie 62 (1907): 465 ff., who seeks to establish, even for the Greek period, the phallus as container of the soul acting in the sperm; cf. also Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1684. Wundt also observes the phallus as bearer of the soul in the beliefs of primitive people, cf. Völkerpsychologie 4, 2, 88 ff., 271, 295 and 498. The menhir as residence of the soul: C. Schuchhardt, “Jenseitsglauben in der europäischen Vorgeschichte: Ist Homers Unterweltsbild nordisch?” Forschungen und Fortschritte 16 (1940), 13 f.; Karge, Rephaim, 525 ff. and passim. Among the Arabs: gravestone = nefesch (soul), cf. Meyer, “Sitzung vom 3. Juni 1913,” col. 85; E. Meyer, Kleine Schriften (Halle, 1924) 2: 11. Original phallic meaning of post- or menhir-like monuments: G. Zoëga, De origine et usu obeliscorum (Rome, 1797), 213 ff., and elsewhere. Contrary to this, see M. W. de Visser, Die nichtmenschengestaltigen Götter der Griechen (Leiden, 1903), 2 f.; however, in my opinion, upon insufficient

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grounds. Maurer, “Der Phallusdienst bei den Israeliten und Babyloniern,” 256 ff.: “The pole is nothing other than the penis erectus.” Origin of the grave stele from the menhir: Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 300; Persson, The Royal Tombs at Dendra near Midea, 114. C.Watzinger,“Die griechische Grabstele und der Orient,” (Genethliakon Wilhelm Schmid) Tübinger Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft (1929): 141 ff.; and especially S. Ferri, Divinità ignote (Florence, 1929), 46 ff. and passim, a work of great interest also for other problems related to the grave cult. Phallus gravestones: Literature collected by Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1728 ff. Curtius, “Phallosgrabmal,” 19 f. and 23, note 1; with critical remarks, and Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom, 68, note 3, on which also E. Pfuhl, “Das Beiwerk auf den östgriechischen Grabreliefs,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 20 (1905): 88 ff. Illustrations in Koerte, “Kleinasiatische Studien,” pl. 1; P. Jacobstal, “Die Arbeiten zu Pergamon, 1906-1907: Die Einzelfunde,” Athenische Mitteilungen 33 (1908): 426, fig. 1 (Pergamon); F. Schachermeyr,“Westkleinasiatische Fundorte,” in Ebert, Reallexikon der Vorgeschichte 14: 309 (Alyattes’ grave); Semitic Near East: S. Curtis, Ursemitische Religion in Volksleben des heutigen Orients (Leipzig 1903), 340 f. and Thomsen, “Menhir: Palästina-Syrien,” 142 f. The first Greek grave phallus found so far from Tsagari in Nomos Serres: O. Walter, “Archäologische Funde in Griechenland von Frühjahr 1939 bis Frühjahr 1940,” Archäologischer Anzieger (1940), col. 281. Also the stone “finger” from the tomb of Orestes, Pausanias 8. 34. 2, O. Kern, Die Religion der Griechen (Berlin, 1926) 1: 35 and H. Möbius, “Diotima,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 49 (1934): 55, note 16 certainly belong here. In an image on a lekythos, British Museum Quarterly 3: 7, E. Buschor points out the phallus grave stone represented there: “Ein choregisches Denkmal,”Athenische Mitteilungen 53 (1928): 107. Etruscan examples: Notizie degli Scavi (1899): 479, figs. 1, 2 (Saturnia); (1908): 211, fig. 14 (Populonia); (1915): 357, fig. 11 (Cerveteri); (1920): 249, fig. 3 (Tarquinia); cf. also Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom, 69, note 2, where numerous other examples are put forward. On the meaning of the phallus in the Roman tomb cult: A. Brelich, “Aspetti della morte nelle iscrizioni sepolcrali dell’Impero Romano” (Diss. Pannonicae ser. 1, fasc. 7), 32 ff. Phallus gravestones and phallus menhirs among modern peoples: F. S. Hartland, “Phallism,” in Hastings, ed., Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics (1917) 9: 815 ff.; Sudan: E. Octobon, “Statuesmenhirs, stèles gravées, dalles sculptées,” Revue Anthropologique 41 (1931): 559, fig. 93; Abyssinia: A. E. Jensen, Im Lande des Gada (Stuttgart, 1936), 499 ff.; Madagascar: F. M. Barthère, “Les Menhirs de l’Emyrne,” Bulletin de la société préhistorique française 13 (1916): 67; India: T. C. Hodson, The Naga Tribes of Manipur (London, 1911): 138; H. Berkusky, “Totengeister und Ahnenkult in Indonesien,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 18 (1915): 301ff.; R. Heine-Geldern, “Die Megalithen Südostasiens,” 286 ff.; J. Hutton, “Assam Megaliths,” Antiquity 3 (1929): 324 ff.; A. Serner, On “Dyss” Burial and Beliefs about the Stone with Special Regard to South Scandinavia (Lund, 1938), 207 ff.; Boulnois, Le caducée et la symbolique dravidienne, 7 ff.; cf. also H. Neuville, “Mégalithes abyssins et mégalithes indiens,” L’anthropologie 42 (1932): 508 ff.; and J. H. Hutton, “Carved Monoliths at Dimapur and an Anami Naga Ceremony,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 52 (1922): 55 ff.; J. H. Hutton, “Carved Monoliths of Jamuguri in Assam,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 53 (1923): 150 ff.; J. H. Hutton, “The Use of Stone in the Naga Hills,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 56 (1926): 71 ff. Perhaps the grave pillar of the Mohammedans, crowned with a turban, also belongs here, G. Dalman, Palästinajahrbuch des Deutschen evangelischen Instituts für Altertumswissenschaft des Heiligen Landes zu Jerusalem 9 (1913): 62. Cult of the dead, fertility beings, and heroes: E. Gjerstad,“Tod und Leben,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 26 (1928): 153 and 184 f. Ancestor cult and hero worship: L. R. Farnell, Greek Hero Cults and Ideas of Immortality (Oxford, 1921); P. Foucart, Le culte des héros chez les Grecs. Extrait des Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 42 (Paris, 1918); S. Eitrem,“Heros,” in Pauly-Wissowa, Realencycl. 8, col. 1127 ff.; Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, 168 ff.

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Gods in the form of the phallus: In the Greek period, the phallus no longer appears as an attribute or a symbol of divinities in human form, cf. Buschor, “Ein choregisches Denkmal,” (1928): 107 f. In this decline it shares the destiny of other attributes or of associated animal forms. Idaean Dactyls: G. Kaibel, “ΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΙ ΙΔΑΙΟΙ,” Nachrichten von der Königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen (1901): 488 ff., contrary to which Herter, “Phallos,”col. 1687. Phalli as images of gods: Eros: Pausanias 9. 27. 1, crude stone monument at Thespiae, certainly a phallus; Hermes: Pausanias 6. 26. 5; 8. 17. 2; Artemidoros, 1. 43. 6 (explicitly designated as the sexual member); of the wooden phallus on Mt. Kyllene, cf. van der Leeuw, Phänomenologie der Religion, 34 f., against which Buschor, “Ein choregisches Denkmal,”107, who supposes that the original phallus daemon was identified with Hermes only belatedly. On phallic worship generally, E. Lehmann, “Die Griechen,” in Chantepie de la Saussaye, ed., Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte (Leipzig, 1897) 2: 231 ff., and Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1681 ff. Herms: L. Curtius, Die antike Herme: eine mythologisch-kunstgeschichtliche Studie (Leipzig, 1903); Sarasin, Helios und Keraunos, 75 ff.; S. Eitrem, “Hermai,” Pauly-Wissowa, Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 8, 1, col. 697 ff.; R. Lullies, Die Typen der griechischen Herme (Königsberg, 1931), on which Curtius, “Phallosgrabmal,” 26, note 9; Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1688 ff. Pillars as images of gods: Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, 187 ff.; in addition de Visser, Die nichtmenschengestaltigen Götter der Griechen, and the literature provided there. Phallic daemons in the circle of Dionysos: Buschor, “Ein choregisches Denkmal,” 105 ff. Phallic nature of the Etruscan Genius: Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom, 50 ff. and Epochen der römischen Geschichte (Frankfurt, 1935) 1: 47. Divine power of procreation embodied in the phallus: Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom, 52 ff. Egyptian sun sanctuaries: L. Borchardt, Das Re-Heiligtum des Königs Ne-woser-Re, vol. 1, Die Bau (Leipzig, 1905); H. Schäfer and W. Wreszinski, text to the Atlas zur altägyptischen Kulturgeschichte 3 (Leipzig, 1927), 114; Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 125, fig. 71, who cites Pliny’s observation about obelisks (“solis numini dicati”). Cf. also Herodotos 2.111 and J. H. Breasted, Development of Religion and Thought in Ancient Egypt (New York, 1912), 11 ff. and 71 ff. This phallic nature of the sun god also explains the equation of Rê-Ammon with the actual procreation god Min, whose images at Koptos still clearly display the character of a menhir, cf. H. Schäfer and W. Andrae, Die Kunst des Alten Orients, 3rd ed. (Berlin, 1925), pl. 179. Monument of the Dioscuri: “δύο ξύλα παράλληλα δυσὶ πλαγίοις ἐπεζευγμένα” (Plutarch, Moralia, De fraterno amore, 1.1); Suidas, Lexicon, “Dioskouroi.” According to Sarasin, Helios und Kerunos, 91, “a Dyas of these sun phalli bound into a unit by cross beams.” A similar stone monument, which has now disappeared, stood like La Marmora; cf. Monuments inédits, Nouvelles annales publiées par la section française de l’Institut d’archéologie (1836) 1: 4 f., cited in A. Mayr, “Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta,” Abhandlungen Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-Philologische Classe 21 (1901): 654, who alleges it to be prior to the Gigantia on the Maltese island of Gozzo. J. Fergusson, Les monuments mégalithiques de tous pays (French translation, Rennes, 1878), refers to grave monuments of the Roman period from Syria in the form of trilithons; cf. also H. C. Butler, Publications of an American Expedition to Syria in 1899-1900. Part II: Architecture and Other Arts (New York, 1902): 11, 59 f.; cf. also Karge, Rephaim, 459, and two other, genuinely Megalithic monuments near Tripoli in North Africa (434, fig. 175 and 436, fig. 176); cf. also R. Demangel, “Π,” Archaiologike¯ Ephe¯meris (1937): 144 ff. Similar monuments have been pointed out also in North Arabia and in the South Seas (Tonga Islands). Stonehenge: Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 85 ff.; R. S. Newall, “Stonehenge,” Antiquity 3 (1929): 75 ff. On the excavations: T. D. Kendrick, “Die Erforschung der Steinzeit und der älteren und mittleren Bronzezeit in England und Wales von 1914-1931,” Bericht der Römisch-Germanischen Kommission 21 (1931): 60 ff. and W. Gowland,“Recent Excavations at Stonehenge,” Archaeologia 58 (1902): 37 ff.

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Phallic character of the column: Löwitsch, “Raumempfinden und moderne Baukunst,” 305 characterizes columns, caryatids, and herms from the psychoanalytical point of view, but without seeking an historical foundation for “phallic symbols.” Column: “The column as a monumental sign enters into the Greeks’ range of ideas as a cult symbol, as a monumental substitute for the oldest cult symbols, the tree, the stone, the post”(W. Haftmann, Das italienische Säulenmonument (Berlin, 1939), 7). Piers with double-axe symbols, Knossos: A. Evans, The Palace of Minos; A Comparative Account of the Successive Stages of the Early Cretan Civilization as Illustrated by the Discoveries at Knossos (London, 1921-35) 2: 386, 393, 398 ff., and 4: 971 ff. (Temple Tomb near Knossos); Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, 258, and by the same author, The Minoan-Mycenaean Religion and its Survival in Greek Religion, (Lund, 1927), 201 ff. On the Minoan column cult: cf. in addition A. Evans, “Mycenaean Tree and Pillar Cult in Its Mediterranean Relations,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 21 (1901): 99 ff. and by the same author, Palace of Minos passim, summarizing Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, who in pls. 12 and 19-21 has provided a convenient sampling of the seal pictures mentioned. Most noteworthy is the representation of a cylinder seal from Mycenae, in which a man is represented worshipping in front of a row of straight- and spiral-fluted columns, Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, pl.12, 5 and Evans, “Mycenean Tree and Pillar Cult,” fig. 24. This recalls the stones of Pharai mentioned by Pausanias, 7. 22. In Phrygia the motif of the “column between beasts” is retained up into historical times in rock-cut tombs, cf. W. M. Ramsay, “The Rock-Necropoleis of Phrygia,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 3 (1882): 18 ff. and pls. 18, 19. Phallus between two lions (Böjuk-Arslantasch): cf. F. von Reber, “Die phrygischen Felsendenkmäler,” Abhandlungen der Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Historische Klasse 21 (1897): 546 ff., pl. 1. Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1729 ff. mentions other examples. Hermes, the bearing center post: S. Eitrem, Hermes und die Toten (Christiania Videnskabs-Selskabs Forhandlinger 1909 no. 5), 6, note 3 and 68. ἔρεισμα τῆς οἰκίας: its Asiatic-Egyptian counterpart is Osiris as pillar of the palace of the kings of Byblos, Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride cited in Boulnois, Le caducée et la symbolique dravidienne, 118. Cf. also the pillar of the “Temple-Tomb” near Knossos, which 4: 977, and Evans, “Mycenean Tree and Pillar Cult,” 145, links with the Mediterranean ancestor-cult. Pfuhl, “Das Beiwerk auf den östgriechischen Grabreliefs,” 79 has pointed out the great significance of “the supporting, the rigid” in the idea of the herm. Phallus menhirs in southern and western France: Octobon, “Statues-menhirs,” 492 and 502 ff.; B. Le Pontois, Le finistère préhistorique (Paris, 1929), 264. Statuette from Alderney: T. D. Kendrick, The Archaeology of the Channel Islands (London, 1928) 1: 33 ff.; H. Breuil, Les peintures rupestres schématiques de la Péninsule Ibérique (Lagny, 1935) 4: 128, fig. 78. Tell Halaf: M. von Oppenheim, Der Tell Halaf (Leipzig, 1931), frontispiece. Even in Christian symbolism the apostles, church fathers, and bishops are compared with the bearing columns of the house of God; cf. J. Sauer, Symbolik des Kirchengegebäudes und seiner Ausstattung in der Auffassung des Mittelalters (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1924), 134. Sublimation of the phallic among the Greeks: cf. Buschor, “Ein choregisches Denkmal,” 108. On the proof of the historical emergence of the orthogonally-oriented cubic conception of space from the experience of gravity, cf. also Kaschnitz-Weinberg, “Über den Begriff des Mittelmeerischen,” 38 f. Meaning of gravity: cf. Beer, Steinverehrung bei den Israeliten, 8. Carving of the stone: cf. F. Altheim, Italien und Rom (Amsterdam, 1943) 1: 99: “The setting up in layers and the carving of stone masses was a cult duty.” On the meaning of the introduction of a module: G. B. Giovenale, I monumenti preromani del Lazio (Rome, 1900), 116 ff. Polygonal masonry: Particularly numerous in Italy and in Akarnania. Cf. for Italy, among others G. Cozzo, Ingegneria romana (Rome, 1928), 110 ff. and R. Fonte a Nive, Costruzioni poligoni (Rome, 1887). Here apparently the desire to link the individual components together through

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a more rigid distribution of the lines of pressure in a system of differentiated tensions prevails, which requires an excessively large expenditure of labor. Also clear, however, is the concurrent effort to straighten and to smooth out the surfaces and the profile of the wall corresponding to the lines of gravity. Polygonal masonry was later almost completely replaced in favor of ashlar masonry (opus quadratum) and is to be viewed in the development rather as a subsidiary branch, completely absent for example in Egypt. Le Curti: A. Adriani, Sculture in tufo (Capua, 1939). East-European-Iranian idols: Menghin, Weltgeschichte der Steinzeit, 383; G. Wilke, “Neolithische Sitzfiguren und Miniaturthrone im unteren Donaugebiet,” in O. Reche, ed., In Memoriam Karl Weule: Beiträge zur Völkerkunde und Vorgeschichte (Leipzig, 1929) 19; L. Franz, Die Muttergöttin im vorderen Orient und Europa (Leipzig, 1937), 9 f. Worship of Cybele in caves: R. Eisler, “Kuba-Kybele,” Philologus 68 (1909), 128 and passim. Caves as burial and cult places: Menghin, Weltgeschichte der Steinzeit, 352, 356 f., 396; Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, 241 f. and 285; Nilsson, Minoan-Mycenaean Religion, 49 ff.; Kern, Religion der Griechen 1: 78 ff. O. Rubensohn,“Delische Kultstätten,” Archäologischer Anzeiger (1931), col. 383 ff. (Eileithyia-caves).With regard to the cult of heroes: F. Pfister, Der Reliquienkult im Altertum. Religionsgeschichte Versuche und Vorarbeiten 5 (1905): 364 ff. The combination of the Megalithic with the cave-like: cf. E. Lorenz, “Der Mythus der Erde,” Imago. Zeitschrift für Anwendung der Psychoanalyse auf die Natur- und Geisteswissenschaften 8 (1922): 300. Feeling for caves: cf. L. Frobenius, Erlebte Erdteile (Frankfurt, 1925) 4: 207 ff., who contrasts the feeling for space ascribed to oriental man with infinite space—the “world-soul” of western man, Spengler’s “Faustian” man. Earthly origins of vaulted space: suggested for early Christian architecture by H. G. Evers, Tod, Macht und Raum als Bereiche der Architektur (Munich, 1939), 91 f. Transformation of caves into above-ground buildings: Evers, Tod, Macht und Raum, 69 hints at this idea when he speaks of the meaning of the cave in the early Christian cult. Here, for example, as Evers, 80 f. points out, the tomb of Christ “by cutting off the bed rock was transformed into a . . . cave brought above ground with exterior architecture.” The same is true of layouts that “. . . artificially produce this hybrid between building and earth mass.” This idea, however, is no longer new, but repeats a tendency, which we encounter already in the tumulus of prehistoric times, where the earth mound, already brought above ground, surrounds the Megalithic grave or the stone chest as the house of the dead. Buildings of Malta: Mayr, “Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta;” L. M. Ugolini, Malta, Origini della civiltà mediterranea (Rome, 1934); C. Ceschi, Architettura dei templi megalitici di Malta (Rome, 1939); Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 101 ff. Summarizing the finds in the temple of Hal Tarxien: T. Zammit, Prehistoric Malta: The Tarxien Temples (London, 1930); for the remaining literature: G. Kaschnitz-Weinberg, “Jüngere Steinzeit und Bronzezeit. Italien mit Sardinien, Sizilien und Malta,” in Handuch der Archäologie, ed. W. Otto (Munich, 1950) 2, 1: 311-402. Carrowkeel:W. Bremer,“Carrowkeel Mountain,” in Ebert, Reallexikon der Vorgeschichte 2: pls. 134, 136. Reconstruction of the temples of Malta: Ceschi, Architettura dei templi megalitici di Malta. Derivation of the architectonic form of the temples of Malta: C. Patroni, Architettura preistorica generale ed italica (Bergamo, 1941), 160 ff. has already seen that the corbel-vaulted Megalithic building of the central Mediterranean stemmed from the East. As will be discussed in another place, I consider the buildings of Malta to be artificial caves, imitated with the aid of Megalithic structural elements (pillars, slabs, cubes), and I believe that this imitation resulted from the stimulus of the round, corbel-vaulted building from the East, coming with Iranian-Taurian culture into the central and western Mediterranean. As stages of this round building, documented in Arpatschije in the fourth millennium B.C., cf. M. E. L. Mallowan and J. Cruikshank Rose, “Excavations at Tall Arpachiyah, 1933,” Iraq 2 (1935): 25 ff., I would like to point out Cyprus (Erimi), central Greece (Orchomenos, Tiryns), and Crete. The burial cave of Hal Saflieni on

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Malta, which is entirely rock-cut in the form of an above-ground Megalithic temple, cf. fig. 44, proves, among other examples, the close connection of Megalithic architecture with the idea of the cave. Fitting the Maltese temple into a mound of earth:T. Zammit, “The Hal-Tarxien Neolithic Temple, Malta,”Archaeologia 67 (1915/16): 130;T. Ashby, R. N. Bradley,T. E. Peet and N.Tagliaferro, “Excavations in 1908-11 in Various Megalithic Buildings in Malta and Gozo,” Papers of the British School at Rome 6 (1913): 40. Zammit takes as given the possibility that the apses of the temple were originally covered with a kind of tumulus, cf. T. Zammit, The Western Group of Megalithic Remains in Malta, Hajar Kim and Mnaidra,Valletta (Valletta, 1931), 40, further in Mayr, “Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta,” 654, 661, 671; C. Schuchhardt, Die Burg im Wandel der Weltgeschichte (Wildpark-Potsdam, 1931), 59 as well as the half underground buildings (salas/hipóstilas) on Minorca, cf. E. Seeger, Vorgeschichtliche Steinbauten der Balearen (Leipzig, 1936), 29 f. If these buildings do in fact signify the body of the earth mother, then it is clear that they are unable to cut themselves loose from the innards of the earth. For this reason Ge appears in vase paintings rising only half out of the earth, and in Southern Italy busts and half statues of Ge depicted in the manner of an omphalos likewise are conceived as still stuck partly in the earth, cf. Ferri, Divinità ignote, 34 ff., “because her uterus has to remain in the earth.” Cult of the Maltese temple: Also Evans, Palace of Minos 2: 185, thinks of a goddess of the kind proven to be the Great Mother on Crete, who unifies underworldly and heavenly features. It is important also that the oracular nature, which is characteristic of chthonic cults, seems to have played a role in the temples of Malta, cf. Ugolini, Malta, 36. Colossal cult statue, Hal Tarxien: Zammit, “The Hal-Tarxien Neolithic Temple, Malta,” 133 and pl. 15, 2; Ugolini, Malta, 139, fig. 71. Reliefs with phalli and conical stones: Mayr, “Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta,” pl. 24; E. de Manneville, “Le bétyle de Malte,” Mélanges syriens offerts à René Dussaud (Paris, 1941) 2: 896 ff. Reliefs from Hal Tarxien with representation of the worship of phallic symbols: T. Zammit, “Third Report on the Hal-Tarxien Excavations, Malta,” Archaeologia 70 (1920), pl. 15: 1, 3; Evans, Palace of Minos 2: 1, 188 f. and fig. 102. Union of the Megalithic ancestor cult with the eastern mother cult on Malta: Even the culture of Malta, probably late-Neolithic/Bronze Age, can only be understood as an interpenetration of East and West. In Maltese ceramics, Western forms (Kielschale or keel cup) mix with Eastern decorative motifs (bandkeramische Spirale or ribbon spirals). From the East come also idols and pottery painting. Phallos (Menhir) in the vaulted building: In niches of the Maltese temple: de Manneville, “Le bétyle de Malte,” 895 ff.; Evans,“Mycenaean Tree and Pillar Cult,” 197; Mayr,“Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta,” 649. In the same place, also phalli in the form of conical stones, and on reliefs: Zammit, Prehistoric Malta, pl. 24: 1-3. Such conical phallus-stones were also found in the cave sanctuary of the “Lady of Turquoise,” the mistress of the Egyptian turquoise mines on the Sinai peninsula, cf. W. M. Flinders Petrie, Researches in Sinai (London, 1906), 189 ff., as well as in the domed tombs at Los Millares (Almería) in southeast Spain, cf. O. Montelius, Der Orient und Europa (Stockholm, 1900), 51 f., figs. 56-7. Perhaps the stalagmites in the cave of Eileithyia at Amnisos on Crete, which were apparently venerated, should also be put forward here: cf. S. Marinatos, “ΑΝΑΣΚΑΦΑΙ ΕΝ ΚΡΗΤΗ, 1930,” Praktika te¯s en Athe¯nais Archaiologike¯s Hetaireias (1930): 91 ff. and figs. 3, 4. C. Doughty, Documents épigraphiques recueillis dans le nord de l’Arabie (Paris, 1884), 21ff. and pls. 44-46 publishes niches in the rock wall of a gorge north of Medina, in which little pillars were placed, cited by G. Perrot and C. Chipiez, Histoire de l’art dans l’antiquité (Paris, 1885) 4: 389 ff. On the interpretation as the union of god and goddess, cf. E.M. de Vogüé, Syrie centrale. Inscriptions sémitiques (Paris, 1877), 121, further Eisler,“Kuba-Kybele,” 133 f. In later times phallic-shaped stone monuments were associated with Aphrodite, cf. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, 494. The unity of phallus (menhir) and earth mother is expressed also in the grave-menhir. Even the menhir which stands over the grave is at the same

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time the body of the dead man risen from the grave, or the phallic incorporation of his procreative power, cf. Koerte, “Kleinasiatische Studien,” 10: “It can be observed again and again that what is placed over the grave is that which originally belonged inside it,” namely in the body of the earth mother. Only cenotaphs have necessarily preserved this original conception, since here the blocks of stone or menhirs had served the function of replacing the body on the spot, cf. the cenotaph of Dendra, Persson, The Royal Tombs at Dendra near Midea, 77 f., 110 ff.; Wiesner, Grab und Jenseits, 91; B. Schweitzer, Studien zur Entstehung des Porträts bei den Griechen (Leipzig 1940) 4th part, 8 ff. and the tomb with the poros pillar in the Kerameikos in Athens: K. Kübler, “Ausgraben in Kerameikos,”Archäologischer Anzeiger 51 (1936), col. 186 f. and 201 f., fig. 15. Grave IV A at Mavro Spelio near Knossos offers another example: E. J. Forsdyke, “The Mavro Spelio Cemetery at Knossos,” Annual of the British School at Athens 28 (1926/27), 254, fig. 7, where, as Wiesner, Grab und Jenseits, with good reason supposes, a stone was set up in the family’s grave for a member of the family who died far away, presupposing, naturally, that the stone did not get into the interior of the tomb after its destruction. Hieros Gamos: cf. A. Klinz, “IEROS GAMOS,” (Diss. Halle, 1933), 7 ff. Skirophoria: L. Deubner, Attische Feste (Berlin, 1932), 43 ff. and Herter, “Phallos,” col. 1712. On the χάσμα γῆς, the holy crevice, cf. Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 2: 653; R. Herzog, “Aus dem Asklepieion von Kos,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 10 (1907): 219 ff. and the chasma gēs above the cave of Trophonios, Pausanias 9. 39. 10; E. Rohde, Psyche: Seelencult und Unsterblichkeitsglaube der Griechen (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1894), 1: 117 ff. and esp. 132, note 1. Also the Italic mundus, the pit into which perhaps the first production of all fruits was thrown, should be brought in here, cf. W. H. Roscher, Der Omphalosgedanke bei verschiedenen Völkern. Berichte über die Verhandlungen der Königlich Sächsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, PhilologischHistorische Klasse 70, 2 (Berlin, 1918), 86 f. and S. Weinstock, “Mundus Patet,” Römische Mitteilungen 45 (1930): 116, as well as that part of the saga of Attis which is concerned with the burial of the godly member in the earth, which thereby will bear fruit, cf. H. Gressmann, Die orientalischen Religionen im hellenistisch-römischen Zeitalter (Berlin, 1930), 101, who also (109) refers to the cut-off members of the Galloi (priests of Cybele) which “were preserved in the secret underground spaces of the mother goddess.” Megara: cf. Rohde, Psyche, 2: 117, note 1. Cave-like nature of the Maltese buildings:The earliest cult buildings on Malta, such as the structure at It-torrital-Mramma, doubtless a predecessor of the later temples (Mayr,“Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta,” 680), still have a quite irregular, cave-like character and must be seen as immediate imitations of natural caves. Cave or church as body of the earth mother: Eisler, “Kuba-Kybele,” 151, 164; Sarasin, Helios und Keraunos, 95: “. . .The cave becomes the birth organ, the Kteis of mother earth, which is fertilized by the sun god by means of lightning. The place where the lightning strikes the earth is considered to be sanctified; over it is erected an artificial cave, that is a tumulus, a vaulted temple, in whose cupola overhead, in imitation of the entrance of the cave, a round hole is left free, . . . (Pantheon).”The comparison of the Pantheon with the vault of heaven (puteal) goes directly back to Cassius Dio 53.27. On the association of the ideas: cave-womb-vault cf. also C. G. Jung, Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido (2nd ed., Leipzig, 1925), 347 f. and Lorenz, “Der Mythus der Erde,” 280 ff. and 300. Kubelon: On its significance, cf. Eisler, “Kuba-Kybele,” 128. Architecturalized caves: cf. Eisler, “Kuba-Kybele,” 169. Megalithic vault: Patroni, Architettura preistorica, 160 ff. has with good reason derived the Megalithic corbelled vault in the Mediterranean from the East and has supposed a combined action of Mediterranean and Near Eastern ideas, without, however, attempting an historical survey and, as usual, practically without references or citations of the literature. Taurian-Iranian culture:The significance of the Taurian-Iranian village culture for the formation of that which we call Mediterranean today can scarcely be valued sufficiently highly; cf. Menghin, Weltgeschichte der Steinzeit, 330 ff. and 448. Its path from East to West is marked everywhere by

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the introduction of the stable round building with or without corbel vaults made of unfired bricks, as it first appears in Arpatschije near Ninevah, in addition by colored ceramics (as far as the flow from southeast Europe is concerned) with spiral ornamentation, seals (Pintaderen), idols, the mother cult, and the bull cult. By comparison, the significance of the North African contributions, cited up to now without real foundation, is in my opinion much less important. Minoan culture also owes the essential elements of its existence to the influx of this Taurian-Iranian wave. On the vaulted round building in the Taurian-Iranian culture, cf. Mallowan and Cruikshank Rose, “Excavations at Tall Arpachiyah, 1933,” 25 ff. Its special use in the sanctuaries of the mother cult has become quite probable through the excavations at Arpatschije, cf. Mallowan and Cruikshank Rose, “Excavations at Tall Arpachiyah, 1933,” 34. On the derivation of the Mediterranean round tomb from North Africa, cf. the survey in Wiesner, Grab und Jenseits, 58, note 6. Against this derivation, L. Banti, “La grande tomba a tholos di Hagia Triada,”Annuario della Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene 13/14 (1934): 250 f.; compare also Patroni, Architettura preistorica, 160 ff. Omphalòs Gês: cf. the remarks of Rohde, Psyche, 2: 132, note 1. Etruscan house- and phallus-gravestones: R.Mengarelli, “Caere e le recenti scoperte,” Studi Etruschi 1 (1927): 166; R. Mengarelli,“Caere. Iscrizioni su cippi sepolcrali, su vasi fittili, su pareti rocciose e su oggetti diversi nella città e nella necropolis di Caere,” Notizie degli Scavi (1937), pl. 15 (Cerveteri) and 357 ff. as well as Altheim, Italien und Rom, 106 f. Clearly here there exists a transference of the old maternal symbolism of the cave to the house, or the house of the dead. Also in the Megalithic cultures of the Indonesian area, male monuments imitating menhirs are distinguished from female ones, which have the form of a flat stone plate lying on the ground, cf. R. Heine-Geldern, “Die Megalithen Südostasiens,” 288. On the house as the body of the earth mother, cf. Eisler, “Kuba-Kybele,” 151. Hestia, goddess of the domestic hearth, and the mother goddess as the foundress of the town, with her crown in the form of a wall, should be recalled here. Eros: Eros was also originally represented as a pillar (phallus), as his cult image, a menhir at Thespiae, proves (Pausanias 9. 27.1). On the hieros gamos with the earth mother, cf. the vase painting in Monumenti dell’Instituto 4 (1847) and A. de Ridder, Catalogue des vases peints de la Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris, 1902) 2: pl. 16, no. 411. In the combined sanctuary of Aphrodite and Eros on the northern side of the acropolis phalli were found, cf. O. Broneer, “Excavations on the North Slope of the Acropolis in Athens, 1931-1932,” Hesperia 2 (1933): 342 f., 346, fig. 18; Hesperia 4 (1935): 118 f. Zeus Meilichios: On Zeus Meilichios, cf. Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 1: 127 f. and Ferri, Divinità ignote, 58. O.Walter, “Archäologische Funde in Griechenland von Frühjahr 1940 bis Herbst 1941,” Archäologischer Anzeiger (1942), col. 114 f. describes pillars from Lebadeia in Boeotia which represent votive offerings to Zeus Meilichios, who seems to have had a cult combined with that of Cybele there. On these pillars (cf. also Pausanias 2.9.6), which are crowned with a kind of cone or omphalos, a phallus also appears twice. Accordingly these pillars are to be interpreted as the embodiment of the god, who usually appears in the form of a snake, again a symbol of the phallus; cf. also E. Gàbrici, Il Santuario della Malophoros, Monumenti Antichi dell’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei 32 (1927), pls. 27-29; U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, “Lesefrüchte,” Hermes 65 (1930): 257 f.; Schweitzer, Gnomon 9 (1933): 181 f. (Zeus Meilichios as god of the dead); Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom, 64 f., and H. Möbius, “Das Metroon in Agrai und sein Fries,” Athenische Mitteilungen 60/61 (1935/36): 234 ff., who considers it likely that Zeus Meilichios and Meter enjoyed combined worship on the Ilissos. Apollo-Helios and Great Mother: Combined sanctuaries in Ionia and Mysia, cf. H. Graillot, Le culte de Cybèle, mère des dieux à Rome et dans l’Empire romain (Paris 1912), 44. Leta can take the place of the Great Mother, cf. H. von Prott, “MHTHP: Bruchstücke zur griechischen Religionsgeschichte,” Archiv fürReligionswissenschaft 9 (1906): 94. Daktyloi and the mother-goddess: Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom, 67 f. It is a more distant echo of the union of the phallic and the chthonic when, on the lower part of an obelisk

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(meta) in the Villa Albani, nymphs led by Pan appear as relief decoration, cf. P. Arndt,W. Amelung, and G. Lippold, Photographische Einzelaufnahmen antiker Skulpturen, no. 4519/21. I would also like to add to this a Hekataion with columns in the form of a phallus, E. Ghislanzoni,“Santuario delle divinità alessandrine,” Notiziario Archeologico 4 (1927): 156 ff. and pls. 18/19. Thalamos-Pastas: cf. Graillot, Le culte de Cybèle, 182 and Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 1: 128. It is characteristic that παστάς can mean not only bridal chamber but also grave chamber; in just the same way, θάλαμος is both cave and bridal chamber. Thus the cave of Eileithyia on Paros is called the θάλαμος in the famous “Hetairai” inscription. The dead man in the body of maternal earth: cf. the literary evidence collected by Ferri, Divinità ignote, 26 f. In the same place, 28 the equation: tumulus = body of the earth mother. The dead man in the body of his mother as god: cf. F. Cumont, Afterlife in Roman Paganism (New Haven, 1923), 36: “The belief seems to have been held that the deceased were absorbed in the Great Mother who had given them birth and they thus participated in her divinity.” Votive models from Locri: P. F. Arias, “La fonte sacra di Locri dedicata a Pan ed alle Ninfe,” Le Arti 3 (1940/41): 177-180; H. Fuhrmann, “Archäologische Grabungen und Funde in Italien und Libyen,” Archäologischer Anzeiger (1941): 650 ff. The apse of the Sanctuary of Fortuna at Praeneste (among others) provides further evidence of the connection between vault and cave; it originally had a facing of artificial stalactites (still evident in the remains) which were supposed to give it the character of a cave; likewise Jupiter puer, worshipped here alongside Fortuna Primigenia, had a cave on the other side of the sanctuary, architecturally completed with a barrel vault, artificially quarried or extended into the cliff. Cf. R. Delbrück, Hellenistische Bauten in Latium (Strassburg, 1907) 1: 83; and 59 ff. respectively. Architecturalization of the cave: As I belatedly see, the idea that vaults derive from the cave has already been pointed out by Paul Sarasin in his book Helios und Keraunos oder Gott und Geist (1924), 18. There he traces the Roman temple of Janus back to the archetype of the cave and adds the supposition that the architectural vaulting generally goes back to the idea of the cave. The apse of the new temple at Samothrace seems to be somewhat analogous, whose grotto-like design has been emphasized by H. Thiersch, Pro Samothrake. Sitzungsberichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien, Philsophisch-Historische Klasse 212 (1930): 60; cf. also Rubensohn, “Delische Kultstätten,” col. 379; Eisler, “Kuba-Kybele,” 151 and in Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 2: 629 expresses similar thoughts, which above all refer to the imitation of the heavens as the world cave by means of the vault. One could hardly doubt the derivation of the nymphaeum with absidal niche from the ancient Mediterranean form of the spring sanctuary, as to a certain extent can still be demonstrated in Sardinia, cf. for the spring sanctuary at Lumarzu, fig. 56, although the links in between are still missing. B. Schweitzer, Ein Nymphäum des frühen Hellenismus. Festgabe zur Winckelmannsfeier des Archäologischen Seminars der Universität Leipzig am 10. Dezember 1938 (Leipzig, 1938), has already traced this type of nymphaeum back into the early Hellenistic period.The mosaic fountains in Pompeii also belong in this group, cf. V. Spinazzola, Le arti decorative in Pompei (Milan, 1928), 157, 194 and Schweitzer, Ein Nymphäum des frühen Hellenismus, 100. The ascendancy of grave buildings, connected with the contemporary swelling up of mounds (tumuli), in which tombs remain hidden under the earth instead of being situated above-ground, can be followed in the changeover from the older to the newer corridortomb culture in France, cf. for example Hülle, Die Steine von Carnac, 20. These later corridor tombs remain permanently accessible in the same way as the Mycenaean domed tombs. Development from the tumulus to the Roman round tomb: F. Matz, “Hellenistische und römische Grabbauten,” Antike 4 (1928): 287 ff.; B. Götze, Das Rundgrab in Falerii (Stuttgart, 1939), 8 ff. and 18 f.; compare however Matz’s review, Gnomon 17 (1941): 215 ff.; he secures the origin of the Roman round tomb, in opposition to Götze, from the Etruscan tumulus, and H. Koethe, “Das Konstantinsmausoleum und verwandte Denkmäler,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 48 (1933): 190, note 5. Phallus on Near Eastern tumuli: cf. Curtius, “Phallosgrabmal,” 20; Koerte “Kleinasiatische Studien,” 6 ff. and pl. 1, fig. 1 f.; W. R. Paton, “Sites in E. Karia and S. Lydia,” Journal of Hellenic

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Studies 20 (1900): 66 ff. and fig. 4. Strabo 5.235 attested the statue of Augustus on the mausoleum. The phalli on Near-Eastern tumuli have as much a solar character as do the menhirs. Tor de’ Schiavi: W. Technau, Die Kunst der Römer (Leipzig, 1936), 272 and 274, fig. 226; Matz, “Hellenistische und römische Grabbauten,” 289; Koethe, “Das Konstantinsmausoleum und verwandte Denkmäler,” 185 ff. Exedra of Herodes Atticus: E. Curtius, F. Adler, G. Hirschfeld, G.Treu,W. Dörpfeld, R. Borrmann, and P. Graef, Olympia. Die Ergebnisse der vom Deutschen Reich veranstalteten Ausgrabung (Berlin, 1890-1897) text vol. 2, 134 ff. and pls. 83-87. On the nymphaeum in general, cf. E. Polaschek, “Nymphaeum,” in Pauly-Wissowa, Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, 17, 2, col. 1517 ff., and Schweitzer, Ein Nymphäum des frühen Hellenismus. The cave-like character of early Roman baths: cf. among others the Stabian baths at Pompeii, A. Maiuri, Pompeji Kultur und Kunst einer antiken Stadt (German trans., Bern/Stuttgart, 1939), 45. Striking there is the predominant darkness, which Jakob Burckhardt stressed even in the imperial baths, cf. A. Kielholz, “Rätsel und Wunder der Heilung,” Imago. Zeitschrift für Anwendung der Psychoanalyse auf die Natur- und Geisteswissenschaften 20 (1934): 185. Cf. also Evers, Tod, Macht und Raum, 86, who calls attention to the fact that according to the ancient conception, warmth and darkness belong to the baths. Spring houses with domes or apses: spring sanctuary of Lumarzu, Rebeccu, cf. A. Taramelli, “Fortezze, recinti, fonti sacre e necropoli preromane nell’agro di Bonorva (Prov. di Sassari),” Monumenti Antichi dell’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei 25 (1918), col. 817-826 ff.; “Tempio a pozzo” at S. Anastasia di Sardara: cf. A. Taramelli, “Sardara. Il tempio nuragico di S. Anatasia e l’officina fusoria di Ortu Commidu,” Monumenti Antichi dell’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei 25 (1918), col. 63 f. and pls. 3-4; “Tempio di fontana coperta” at Ballao in nel Gerrei: cf. A. Taramelli, “Ballao nel Gerrei: Tempio protosardo scoperto in regione ‘Sa Funtana Coperta’,” Notizie degli Scavi (1919), 173 ff. All in Sardinia. Sanctuary of Fortuna at Praeneste: cf. Evers, Tod, Macht und Raum, 91, who points out the similar situation of the church of St. Peter in Rome. On the layout: Delbrück, Hellenistische Bauten in Latium 2: 47 ff. and esp. 83 f. Amorphous, moldable character of the wall: cf. A. von Gerkan, Griechische Städteanlagen (Berlin, 1924), 150. Filled walls of Maltese temples: cf. Mayr, “Die vorgeschichtlichen Denkmäler von Malta,” 680 f. The “navetas” on Minorca are constructed in the same way, cf. Seeger, Vorgeschichtliche Steinbauten der Balearen, 80; cf. also Delbrück, Hellenistische Bauten in Latium, 2: 86, who provides examples of rubble walls in the mud binding between shells of larger blocks, which again one can observe as the transition to a typical Roman shell wall with real cement filling; see further Cozzo, Ingegneria romana, 142 f. The commonly-used earth walls in forms (pisé) in the area of Carthage should also be brought in here, Delbrück, Hellenistische Bauten in Latium, 2: 86. The wall takes the place of the earth or of the stone: Evers, Tod, Macht und Raum, 81, has already voiced these ideas in his discussion of the cave-church of the Middle Ages. The substitution of opus incertum for earth in the Roman round tomb, which developed from the tumulus form, is evident, cf. Götze, Das Rundgrab in Falerii, 9. “Monte del Grano:” cf. T. Ashby-G. Lugli, “La villa dei Flavi Cristiani ‘Ad Duas Lauros,’” Memorie della Pontificia Accademia Romana di Archeologia 2 (1928): 179 ff. Porch of the Pantheon as a Hellenizing symbolic structure: cf. Cozzo, Ingegneria romana, 293. Pherecydes of Syros: W. Schmid, Die klassische Periode der griechischen Literatur. Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft, ed. W. Otto, vol. 7, part 1, vol. 1 (Munich, 1929), 725 ff.; Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 2: 329 ff. The Orphics: Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 2: 618 ff. Starry ceiling of palaces: cf. the description of the royal city of Babylon in the time of Apollonius of Tyana in the first century A.D. in Philostratos, Vit. Ap. 1. 25. 11. Further examples in Eisler, Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt 2: 606, note 1 and 610 ff., 614, note 1 and “Kuba-Kybele,”151. For Egypt, cf. H. Schäfer, “Weltgebäude der alten Ägypter,” Antike 3 (1927): 91 ff.

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Vault of heaven in the fifth century B.C.: on the fragment in Naples with the representation of the gigantomachy, which apparently reproduces the painting on the shield of Athena Parthenos, cf. P. Ducati, “Osservazioni sull’inizio della ceramica apula figurate,” Jahreshefte des Österreichischen Ärchäologischen Instituts in Wien 10 (1907): 254, fig. 83; A. Salis, “Die Gigantomachie am Schilde der Athena Parthenos,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 55 (1940): 112 ff.; the vault of heaven already appears as a painted arch, which one apparently had to imagine as a dome, above which the gods appear. Mithraeum: F. Cumont, Die Mysterien des Mithra (2nd ed., Leipzig, 1911), 149, fig. 7 (Carnuntum); the mithraeum as a reproduction of the world cave: F. Cumont, Textes et monuments figures relatifs aux mystères de Mithra (Paris, 1899) 1: 198 and the notice in Porphyry, De Antra Nymph. 5, cited in Cumont, Textes et monuments 2: 40. Pantheon: Imitation of the vault of heaven: Cassius Dio 53. 27. 2. Vaulted space—religious transcendence: the cave symbolism of the Middle Ages, to which Schmid, Die klassische Periode der griechischen Literatur, 726, note 13 refers, should be added to this equation; cf. K.Vossler, review of F. Kern, Dante: Vier Vorträge zur Einführung in Göttliche Komödie (Tübingen, 1914), in Deutsche Literaturzeitung 35 (1914), col. 1263 (“since Averroes medieval philosophers have dwelled on the intellect as a mirror, a vessel, or, as Dante’s image goes, as a cave, a lustra to look into, in which truth is reflected and comes to realization or rest”). On the earth-like nature of the Christian vaulted building: cf. the already much-cited book by Evers, Tod, Macht und Raum, esp. 91 f. In-between space: Cf. Löwitsch, “Raumempfinden und moderne Baukunst,” 305. “Things are closed individuals, between them is ‘nothing.’ Euclidian space is only imagined insofar as it is filled with such ‘bodies’ (the Greek perception of space).” Structure of Italic sculpture: G. Kaschnitz-Weinberg, “Studien zur etruskischen und frührömischen Porträtkunst,” Römische Mitteilungen 41 (1926): 133 ff., by the same author, “Bemerkungen zur Struktur der altitalischen Plastik,” Studi Etruschi 7 (1933): 135 ff. and esp. 177 ff. On the character of the boundary in Italic sculptural structure, cf. G. Kaschnitz-Weinberg, Marcus Antonius, Domitian, Christus (Halle, 1938), 94 ff.

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ILLUSTRATIONS Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5 Fig. 6 Fig. 7 Fig. 8 Fig. 9 Fig. 10 Fig. 11 Fig. 12 Fig. 13 Fig. 14

Fig. 15 Fig. 16 Fig. 17 Fig. 18 Fig. 19 Fig. 20 Fig. 21

Temple of Poseidon, Paestum, from the northeast. Friedrich Kraus, Paestum (Berlin, 1941), pl. 43. Pantheon, Rome. A.B. Desgodetz, Les édifices antiques de Rome (Paris, 1779), pl. 3. Apollo, west pediment of the Temple of Zeus, Olympia. G. Rodenwaldt and W. Hege, Olympia (Berlin, 1936), pl. 43. Great Eleusinian votive relief (detail), National Museum, Athens. Schuchhardt, Kunst der Griechen, 278, fig. 253. Map showing the spread of Megalithic culture. Dolmen, Crucung, France. Ebert, Reallexikon der Vorgeschichte. 4, 1, pl. 37. Menhir de la Bretellière, Saint Maccaire, Département Maine-et-Loire, France. Ebert, Reallexikon für Vorgeschicht. 4, 1, pl. 7. Phallus gravestones, Pergamon. Athenische Mitteilungen 33 (1908), 426, fig. 1. Herm from Siphnos, National Museum 3728, Athens. Athenische Mitteilungen 60/61 1935/36), pl. 101. Sanctuary at Abusir. Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 125, fig. 71. Trilithon at Stonehenge. Antiquity 3 (1929), pl.1 facing 76. Stonehenge (reconstruction). Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 88, fig. 44. “Basilica,” Paestum. Krauss, Paestum, pl. 13. Palace at Knossos: pier with double-axe symbols scratched in. H.Th. Bossert, Altkreta; Kunst und Handwerk in Griechenland, Kreta und in der Ägäis von den Anfängen bis zur Eisenzeit (3rd ed. Berlin, 1937), pl. 104, fig. 203. Gold ring from Mycenae. Journal of Hellenic Studies 21 (1901), 159, fig. 39. Seal from Kydonia, Crete. Journal of Hellenic Studies 21 (1901), 163, fig. 43. The Artemision (reconstruction), Magnesia on the Maeander, reconstruction. F. Krischen, Die griechische Stadt (Berlin, 1938), pl. 39. Menhir at St. Sernin, Aveyron, France. Octobon, “Statues-Menhirs,” 348, fig. 27. Statuette from Alderney. Breuil, Les peintures rupestres 4: 128, fig. 78. Temple-palace, Tell Halaf. Oppenheim, Der Tell Halaf, title page. Erechtheion: Porch of the Maidens, Athens. Photo Hamann 134024.

Fig. 22 Grave column from Kerameikos, Athens. H. Riemann, Kerameikos, vol. 2: Skulpturen vom 5. Jahrhundert bis in römische Zeit (Berlin, 1940), pl. 14, 42. Fig. 23 Menhir near Kerleskan, Brittany. Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, pl. 16, 1. Fig. 24 Kerameikos. Cemetery. Photo Hamann II, 315. Fig. 25 Stele from Thera. After Photo in the Archaeological Seminar, University of Frankfurt am Main. Fig. 26 Axis-System of a Stele. Fig. 27 “Cyclopaean” wall at Numistrone, southern Italy. A. Baumeister, Denkmäler des Klassischen Altertums (Munich, 1888) 3, 1695, fig. 1779. Fig. 28 The Lion Gate, Mycenae. Photo Hamann III, 19. Fig. 29 “Temple of the Sphinx,” Hall of Pillars, Giza. Photo Hamann 86 415. Fig. 30 Cubic structure of Euclidian space. Fig. 31 “Kritios Boy,”Acropolis Museum, Athens. Schuchhardt, Kunst der Griechen, 278, fig. 253. Fig. 32 Ranofer, Egyptian Museum, Cairo. H. Schäfer and W. Andrae, Die Kunst des alten Orients (3rd ed., Berlin, 1925), pl. 235. Fig. 33 Seated Statue from Le Curti near Capua. A. Adriani, Sculture in tufo (Cataloghi illustrati del Museo Campano 1), no. 46, pl. 9. Fig. 34 Temple of Apollo, Corinth, south colonnade. G. Rodenwaldt and W. Hege, Griechische Tempel (Berlin, 1941), pl. 13. Fig. 35 Idol from Thrace. M. Hoernes and O. Menghin, Urgeschichte der bildenden Kunst in Europa von den Anfängen bis um 500 vor Christi (3rd ed.,Vienna, 1925), 319, fig. 1. Fig. 36 Plan of the Gigantia at Gozzo, Maltese Islands. Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 102, fig. 53. Fig. 37 Carrowkeel Mountain, Ireland. Ebert, Reallexikon der Vorgeschichte 2: pl. 134. Fig. 38 Mnaidra, Malta, attempt at reconstructing an apse of the temple. Ceschi, Architettura dei templi megalitici di Malta, pl. 2. Fig. 39 Limestone statuette from Malta. Ugolini, Malta, pl. 3. Fig. 40 Relief from Hal-Tarxien, Malta. Evans, Palace of Minos 2, 1, 189, fig. 102a. Fig. 41 Reliefs with representations of the phallus, Malta. Zammit, Prehistoric Malta, pl. 24, 1. Fig. 42 Tombstone in the shape of a house, Cerveteri, Italy. Notizie degli Scavi (1937), pl. 15, 9. Fig. 43 Tomb cippus, Cerveteri, Italy. Notizie degli Scavi (1937), pl. 15, 1. Fig. 44 Hal Saflieni, Malta. Ceschi, Architettura dei templi megalitici di Malta, pl. 4. Fig. 45 “Treasury of Atreus,” Mycenae: entrance, elevation and plan. Annual of the British School at Athens 25 (1921-23): 339, fig. 69 and Schuchhardt, Alteuropa, 287, fig. 182. Fig. 46 Votive relief, Grotto of the Nymphs. National Museum, Athens. J. N. Svoronos, Das Athener Nationalmuseum (Athens, 1908), plate vol. 1, pl. 98. Fig. 47 Clay model of a spring grotto from Locri (southern Italy), Museo Nazionale, Reggio Calabria. Archäologischer Anzeiger (1941), col. 650, fig. 131. Fig. 48 Clay model of a spring grotto from Locri (southern Italy), Museo Nazionale, Reggio Calabria. Archäologischer Anzeiger (1941), col. 651, fig. 132.

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Fig. 49 Clay model of a spring sanctuary at Locri (reconstruction). Archäologischer Anzeiger (1941), col. 653, fig. 133. Fig. 50 Doryphoros (restoration by Römer). Photo Kaufmann, Munich. Fig. 51 Image on a lekythos from Eretria. A.S. Murray and A. H. Hamilton, White Athenian Vases in the British Museum (London, 1896), pl. 13. Fig. 52 Tumulus tomb at Cerveteri (Caere). Technau, Die Kunst der Römer, 17, fig. 10; Photo Alinari 35852. Fig. 53 The Mausoleum of Augustus, Rome, hypothetical restoration. R. A. Cordingley and I. A. Richmond, “The Mausoleum of Augustus,” Papers of the British School at Rome, 10 (1927): 35, fig. 3. Fig. 54 Tomb of Caecilia Metella. G. T. Rivoira, Architettura romana (Milan, 1921), 7, fig. 3. Fig. 55 Tor de’ Schiavi Mausoleum in the Villa of the Gordians, Rome. Rivoira, Architettura romana, 222, fig. 214. Fig. 56 Spring sanctuary at Lumarzu, Sardinia, plan and elevation. Monumenti Antichi 25 (1918), col. 818, fig. 22; col. 819, fig. 23. Fig. 57 Exedra of Herodes Atticus, Olympia. Olympia 2: pl. 85. Fig. 58 Temple of Venus and Roma (restoration attempt by Vaudoyer), Rome. D’Espouy, Fragments antiques 2: pl. 189. Fig. 59 Model of the “Temple of Minerva Medica,” Rome. After Photo in the Archaeological Seminar, University of Frankfurt am Main. Fig. 60 Nuraghe structure, Santu Antine. Monumenti Antichi 38 (1939), pl. 4. Fig. 61 Hadrian’s Gate, Athens. Technau, Die Kunst der Römer, 207, fig. 165. Fig. 62 Apsidal mosaic in S.Vitale, Ravenna. Wilhelm Neuss, Die Kunst der Alten Christen (Augsburg, 1926), pl. 56, fig. 115. Fig. 63 Mithraeum under S. Clemente, Rome. H. Haas, Bilderatlas zur Religionsgeschichte, vol. 15: Die Religion des Mithras (Leipzig, 1930), fig. 7. Fig. 64 Pantheon, Rome, elevation. Rome. Desgodetz, Les édifices antiques de Rome, pl. 6.

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