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I‘I .IIII'II XIII IIIIII M I I W I' .III IIIWI III . IIIII IIII'I'IIII IIIIIIIII IIIII' ZIWIIIII"I II) IIIWIII IIIIIII -f‘jrc'. This is to certify that the thesis entitled DEIFIED VIRTUES, DEMONIC VICES, AND DESCRIPTIVE ALLEGORY IN PRUDENTIUS ' PSYCHOMACHIA presented by Kenneth R. Haworth has been accepted towards fulfillment of the requirements for Ph.D. Jeyeem English L a Cami. Major pro 2.er Date April 26, 1979 0-7639 OVERDUE FINES ARE 25¢ PER DAY PER ITEM Return to book drop to remove this checkout from your record. _ .. © 1979 KENNETH R . HAWORTH ALLRIGHTS RESERVED DEIFIED VIRTUES, DEMONIC VICES AND DESCRIPTIVE ALLEGORY IN PRUDENTIUS' PSYCHOMACHIA BY Kenneth R. Haworth A DISSERTATION Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY Department of English 1979 ABSTRACT DEIFIED VIRTUES, DEMONIC VICES AND DESCRIPTIVE ALLEGORY IN PRUDENTIUS' PSYCHOMACHIA BY Kenneth R. Haworth Largely an historical study, this paper attempts to prove that Prudentius' Psychomachia is a poem about Roman religion in the later fourth and early centuries. There are two levels of allegory which have come to be distinguished in critical literature on the poem, "scriptural allegory" and "personification allegory"; first of all, special critical problems connected with the latter term are estab- lished. In separate chapters, I discuss both personifica- tion (along with its ancient counterpart prosopopoeia) and allegory as Prudentius must have understood them. Here I arrive at two main conclusions: that the term "personifi- cation allegory," which has appeared in much modern Pruden- tius criticism, is misleading and that it would not have been readily intelligible to Prudentius. In view of these conclusions, it is, I contend, pertinent to ask if the Virtues and Vices, so often termed personified abstrac- tions, were truly such to Prudentius. In the two following Kenneth R. Haworth chapters, the Virtues and Vices are explained in their historical context: since they were minor divinities in heathen Roman religion, they certainly were not rhetorical figures to Prudentius. The Psychomachia is not a mere rhetorical exercise, though there are rhetorical figures to be found in it; it is instead a religious poem but a reli- gious poem which reflects the peculiar syncretism of Christianity and paganism common in the late fourth and early fifth centuries. Having demonstrated that there is no "personification allegory" in the Psychomachia, I con- clude by distinguishing a second, non-scriptural allegorical element in the poem, which I term "descriptive allegory," and by arguing that Prudentius was consciously practicing descriptive allegory in his representation of the Virtues and the Vices. Sections treating the title of the poem and the illustrated Prudentius manuscripts, in which the Virtues and Vices were depicted as heathen divinities, are appended to my study. TABLE OF CONTENTS LIST OF FIGURES . . . . . Chapter I. STATEMENT OF PROBLEM AND SELECTED RELATED LITEATURE . . . . Notes to Chapter I II. ALLEGORIA . . . . . Notes to Chapter II III. PERSONIFICATION AND PROSOPOPOEIA Notes to Chapter III THE DEIFIED VIRTUES Notes to Chapter IV V. THE DEMONIC VICES . Notes to Chapter V VI. AN OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF ROMAN RELIGION IN THE LATE FOURTH AND EARLY FIFTH CENTURIES Notes to Chapter VI VII. DESCRIPTIVE ALLEGORY . . Notes to Chapter VII APPENDICES Appendix A. The Title Psychomachia . iii Page 10 12 36 42 53 55 71 74 88 92 105 107 114 116 Notes to Appendix A . B. The Illustrated Manuscripts Notes to Appendix B BIBLIOGRAPHY iv Page 121 123 127 128 LIST OF FIGURES Figure Page 1. Pudicitia Fights Libido (Ms. Lol) . . . . . . . 125 2. Pudicitia Fights Libido (Ms. L02) . . . . . . . 126 CHAPTER I STATEMENT OF PROBLEM AND SELECTED RELATED LITERATURE The influence which the Psychomachia exerted upon the literary and plastic arts in the later Middle Ages was considerable. It enjoyed wide circulation no doubt; for about three hundred manuscripts of it still survive. Of r these, twenty are illuminated and remarkable for their intricacy and elaborateness. As Male and other scholars of medieval art have shown, the poem inspired much finely wrought sculpture and stained-glass art work in the French cathedrals of the thirteenth century.1 But its enormous prestige did not begin then: it was, to all appearances, already beginning to achieve some measure of fame not long after its creation. Prudentius was considered a major Christian literary writer as early as the fifth century and his corpus was widely read and glossed in Carolingian times, as any reader of Arevelo's eighteenth-century edition in Migne's Patrologia Latina may easily gather.2 But the Carolingian glosses bear witness not only to the early popularity of Prudentius' work: they also confirm what a modern reader might suspect: that one obstacle to the 1 understanding of Prudentius' poetry has traditionally been the difficulty of his language. The Psychomachia, often obscure and circumlocutory, is highly rhetorical. Northern Spain was a well-established center for rhetorical study in Prudentius' time. Earlier native writers included Lucan and Quintilian, both of whom manifest a thorough knowledge of rhetoric. Quintilian's display of rhetorical knowledge is even encyclopediac; the nature of his work makes clear that the study of rhetoric was paramount in the educational institutions of that day. The continuance of rhetorical study and its steady influence on later Roman literature is reflected in the works of such poets as Juvenal, Seneca, Statius, Ausonius and Claudian.3 But a second obstacle to the understanding of Prudentius' poetry, particularly for modern readers, is that he wrote in the later fourth and early fifth centuries, an era which has come to be associated with "decline and fall" or "Untergang": that in the fourth century, the steepest decline in Roman military and political power occurred is scarcely disputable.4 It is only recently that historians have come to view the age as, besides, a period of trans- formation, though of radical transformation.5 And along with this re-assessment of later Roman history, there has been an attempt to re-awaken critical interest in the Psychomachia.6 In the English-speaking world, serious study of the poem has been stimulated especially by C. S. Lewis in the Allegory 9: Love. But though Lewis has stimulated the endeavor to re-assess Prudentius' art, his own judgements on the Psychomachia are decidedly negative. He sees its importance as resting solely on historical grounds: that it gave rise to a great literary genre, the so—called "medieval allegory." In addition, he is quick to complain about the poem's "frigid abstractions"; and in this esthetic judgement he expresses sentiments strikingly similar to Puech's.7 Despite the differences in format of the studies of the Psychomachia which have appeared since Lewis, it seems generaly accepted that it is an allegory--of sorts. Pru- dentian criticism has come to distinguish two kinds of alle- gory in the poem. The first is usually termed "scriptural allegory," and a good explanation of it can be found in Auerbach's essay "Figura" or in the introduction of Herzog's Die allegorishe Dichtkunst des Prudentius.8 Typology is the essence of this kind of allegory, specifically the attempt to see Old Testament characters as prefiguring those of the New. In the Psychomachia, this process is exemplified where Abraham prefigures Fides; Judith, Pudicitia; or Job, Patientia.9 This method of scriptural interpretation, as Auerbach has shown, greatly developed in the later Middle Ages, was a tradition firmly established early in patristic writings; it also had a firm basis of authority in both the Gospels and in Paul's epistles. Thus allegory, though it may be a method of creation in fictional, or semi-historical writings, is in origin a method of interpretation. But this method of interpretation presupposes a corresponding method of creation, at least theoretically. Indeed, even the words of Jesus himself lent authority to this allegorical method of interpretation. For example, in the story of Jonah in Matthew 16, where Jesus calls Jonah a "sign," we may understand Jonah as prefiguring Christ. But, to do so, we presume that our way of under- standing Jonah agrees with Jesus' method of creation or, in other words, that Jesus pointed to that same analogy between the story of Jonah and the whale and his own coming burial and resurrection which we perceive.10 Furthermore, as will be seen below in detail, this method of interpreting scrip- ture was taken over by Christian exegetes from an older school of Hellenistic grammarians and philosophers who inter- preted allegorically the Iliad and the Odyssey.11 A second kind of allegory in the Psychomachia which certain critics have come to distinguish is the so-called "personification allegory" and it is upon this term that the present study will concentrate. The classic explanation of "personification allegory" has been formulated by Lewis: On the one hand you can start with an immaterial fact, such as the passions which you actually experience, and can then invent visibilia to express them. If you are hesitating between an angry retort and soft answer, you can express your state of mind by inventing a person called Ira with a torch and letting her contend with another invented person called Patientia. This is allegory, and it is with this alone that we have to deal (pp. 44-45).]-2 But this explanation is problematic for several reasons. In the first place, although Lewis has defined allegory to his own satisfaction, he has not sought to determine what the term, which had by Prudentius' time long been a term-of Greek rhetoric, meant to writers of the ancient world. Second, the leading Virtues and Vices of the Psychomachia, such as Ira and Patientia, which Lewis under- stands as invented persons or personifications, are not truly such and whether any of the other Virtues and Vices in it are genuine personifications is doubtful, as will be argued below. Third, Lewis has tended, like so many critics after him, to view, rather arbitrarily, personification as almost exclusively the dramatization of an abstraction; however, though personification 933 not necessarily do 50.13 This study will instead maintain that it is important here to draw attention to the distinction between true personi- fication, a dramatic and later a rhetorical technique, and the deified Virtues which, far from being rhetorical figures, were leading divinities in Roman religion. Fourth, Lewis has contributed greatly to the widespread tendency to identify allegory with personification; though there is, as I hOpe to show, a connection between these two originally separate and distinct literary techniques, it is necessary to explain that connection. Allegory, to be sure, is an elusive term. It is a word which has come to have so many connotations and associ- ations that it is difficult to comprehend what it is intended to mean in much literary criticism.14 Whether or not the term can be redeemed for modern purposes is, of course, beyond the sc0pe of this study; my interest is only to deter- mine what it meant to Prudentius. But the conceptual diffi— culties with the term which I have just enumerated are not peculiar to Lewis. Since it is not my intention here to outline the history of these difficulties, let two illu- strations drawn from the works of classic writers suffice. Thus, Hegel, in his Lectures an Fine Art, announces confidently at the very beginning of his discussion on allegory: The first concern of allegory . . . consists in per- sonifying and therefore conceiving as a subject, general abstract situations or qualities belonging to both the human and the natural world, e.g., religion, love, justice, discord, glory, war, peace, spring, summer, autumn, winter, death, fame. Like Lewis, Hegel identifies allegory with personification. But thereupon his discussion becomes even more confusing; and in an important note made by his English translator, it is justly reprehended as "needlessly obscure." Winckelmann, for his part, begins his treatment of art allegory with a precise definition of allegory in mind and one which has great authority because it was taken from ancient tradition: but in his zeal to read allegory into virtually all art, he soon abandons the basis for his investigation: Die eigentliche Bedeutung des Worts Allegorie, . . . ist, etwas sagen welches von dem was man anzeigen will, verschieden ist, das ist, anders wohin zielen, als wohin der Ausdruck zu gehen scheinet, auf eben die Art wie wenn ein Vers eines alten Dichters in ganz verschiedenen Verstande angewendet wird. In folgenden Zeiten aber ist der Gebrauch des Worts Allegorie erweitert, und man begreift unter Allegorie alles was durch Bilder und Zeichen angedeutet und gemahlet wird: These writers demonstrate well enough that the most diffi— cult problem caused by the term "allegory" in art criticism has been the indiscriminate and rather careless use of the term.15 A closely related problem is caused by the presup- position--found often in modern criticism of medieval literary works—-that allegory and personification are identical or nearly so. Therefore, a brief account of pre-Prudentian alle- gory is necessary to provide a conception of what allegory does and does not include. In fact, after determining what ancient authorities conceived of as allegory, I will argue that "scriptural allegory" would have been meaningful to Prudentius, but "personification allegory" would not have been. Then, after having discussed personification as a rhetorical figure in its own right, I will attempt to reveal the true nature and identity of the Virtues and Vices. Finally, I will present my own conception of a second, non-scriptural allegorical element in the Psycho- machia: that element I term "descriptive allegory."15 I hope to explain, as well, the problematical connection between allegory and personification. Ultimately, it should become apparent, if only by implication, that the medieval readers of the Psychomachia resembled modern readers in one respect: the tendency to consider the Virtues and Vices mere rhetorical figures. This explains why, over the cen- turies, the poem has been much misunderstood, even by its admirers. I place the poem in its proper historical con- text: though highly rhetorical stylistically it is still thematically a religious poem, like the Apotheosis and the Hamartigenia. A curious blending of Christian and heathen literary themes and mythology, it is the product of a time when the church was only beginning to establish orthodoxy. The following abbreviations are used throughout these notes: 3.§.=Pauly-Wissowa's Real-Encyclopadie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Roscher=Roscher's Ausffihrliches Lexikon der griechischen und romischen Mythologie. NOTES TO CHAPTER I 1See B. Male, The Gothic Image: Religious Art in France of the Thirteenth Century, tr. D. Nussey from the 3rd FreHEh edition (1913; rpt. New York: Harper, 1973), pp. 98-130. 2See A. Puech, Prudence, Etude sur la péesie latine chrétienne EB IVeme siecle (Paris, 1888), pp. 253-55. 3See Macrobius, Saturnalia, tr. P. Davies (New York: Columbia University Press, 1969), App. A, p. 519 on the public endowment of grammarians and rhetors. 4Gibbon's Decline and Fall gf the Roman Empire is, I trust, familiar to all readers; cf. also 0. Seeck‘s Geschichte des Untergangs der antiken Welt (Stuttgart, 1920), 6 vols. 5Cf. L. White, ed., The Transformation g: the Roman World: Gibbon's Problem after Two Centuries (Los Angeles: Universify of California Press, 1966). 6All subsequent references to Prudentius' poems, unless otherwise specified, are based on the following edition: Prudentius, ed. and tr. H. J. Thomson (Loeb edition; London: Heinemann, 1969), 2 vols.; other editions used, however, are J. Bergman's Aurelii Prudentii Carmina in C.§.E.L., vol. LXI (Vienna/LeIpzig, 1926); and M. Cunningham's in Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina, vol. CXXVI (Turnhout, 1966). 7In the Allegory of Love (Oxford, 1936), pp. 66-72; see, as well, Puech, p. 239. ‘ 8Auerbach's essay appears in Scenes from the Drama 2; European Literature, tr. R. Manheim (Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1973), pp. 11-76; see also the introduction to R. Herzog's monograph, in the Zetemata series, Heft 42 (Munich: Beck, 1966), pp. l—8. 10 11 9See the Praefatio; and 53-97; 163—71. lOCf. Matt., 12: 39; Luke, 11: 29. llSee F. Wehrli, Zur Geschichte der allegorischen Deutung Homers im Altertum Digs. (Basel/Borna-Leipzig, 1928), pp. 3 ff.; and Pseudo-Plutarch's De Vita et Poesi Homeri, ed. G. Bernardakis in his editioH_of PluEErch's Moralia (Leipzig: Teubner, 1896), VIII, pp. 329-462. See also Macrobius' Saturnalia for similar attitudes expressed towards Vergil. 12Cf. also M. Smith, Prudentius' Psychomachia, A Reexamination (Princeton, 1976), pp. 109-67. l3See P. F. Beatrice, "L'Allegoria nella Psychomachia di Prudenzio," Studia Patavina, XVIII (1971), pp. 29-37. 14A book notorious in this regard is Rosamund Tuve's Allegorical Imagery: Some Medieval Books and Their Posterity (Princeton, 1966). 15Tr. T. M. Knox (Oxford, 1975), I, pp. 398-402, esp. p. 399; and J. J. Winckelmann, Versuch einer Allegorie, besonders ffir die Kunst (1766; rpt. Baden-Baden: Heitz, 1964), pp. 1-32 and passim; the quote is taken from p. 2. 16See Chapter VII below. CHAPTER II ALLEGORIA Our English word allegory derives from the Greek allegpria, an abstract noun which, in turn, derives from the verb allegore5 'to say one thing and mean another.‘ This verbal form was a compound made up from the root words allgg 'other' and aggra 'the market place of the Greek polis or city state,’ roughly comparable to the Roman forum. It should, then, be emphasized that the verbal form a11egore5 implied speaking not in general but rather the peculiar type of public speaking usually associated with oratory. That allegoria was didactic to the Greeks is made abundantly clear from the fact that the simple verb agoreua, of similar origin, referred regularly to speaking or decla- mation in the public assembly. But it is even more enlightening here to study the citations of allegoria pro- vided by Liddell and Scott's Greek dictionary. The noun allegoria is cited by Liddell and Scott seven times in all. Doubtless, at this juncture, Williams' words that allegory could either be a method of creation or a method of interpretation should be reiterated. But as it 12 13 would be unduly tedious to examine all seven citations of the word, let it suffice instead to examine two of them in contexts where allegoria means a method of creation. The first is taken from a Greek source, the dg elocutione, a rhetorical tract composed quite possibly in the first century B.C., long ascribed to Demetrius.l The writer is explicit in his definition of this word: Allegory also is something impressive. And especially in threats, like those of Dionysius 'their cicadas will sing from the ground.‘ If he had announced literally that he was going to destroy the Locrian land, he would have appeared more angry and less digni- fied. But he veiled the words of his speech by means of allegory. For what is merely hinted at is more awe- inspiring, when, that is, one thing is likened to some- thing else. But what is clear and plain is apt to be despised, like men stripped of their clothing. Thus, the mysteries are delivered in allegories in order to cause men to shudder and fear as they will do in darkness or at night. However, one must be careful in using allegory that one's speech does not become an enigma . . . The Lacedaemonians were accustomed to make many a threat in the form of an allegory. . . . This text, luckily, is not only explicit but rela- tively free from textual problems. The writer here calls such public statements of policy as Dionysius' veiled threats or the decrees of the Lacedaemonians allegories because these pronouncements say one thing and mean another.2 He points to the darkness of allegorical expression, the fact that Greek pagan religious mysteries were delivered as allegories, but distinguishes it from the riddle (enigma) with which it was often associated.3 Thus, 14 allegory proceeds from a preconception: our interpretation- follows from a given statement which could be understood as literally true, such as Dionysius' threat that the cicadas would sing from the ground, which meant that he would ravage the Locrian land by cutting its trees down. The allegorical statement stands in a one to one relationship to its intended meaning; it can have one and only one intended meaning and it is sufficiently clear to all who perceive the statement what that intended meaning is, as in everyday experience when someone indulges in obvious irony by saying "that's great!" meaning "that's terrible!" In this respect, allegory is distinguishable from the riddle which is not readily intelligible to most people and can only be solved by a sage or seer. In addition, it is easily distinguishable from symbolism which is instead the presentation of the concrete to suggest to the per- ceiver a long train of mental associations, conscious and subconscious.4 This onrush of ideas and associations, the characteristic effect which the symbol produces upon the perceiver as he contemplated it is, then, a much different mental process from the one-to-one recognition process of allegory. For this reason, symbolism has been termed ”inexhaustible."5 Furthermore, Demetrius insists that allegorical expression is supposed to have great emotional impact. Yet who, after all, would be more adept at agi- tating a crowd's emotions than an orator? 15 And that leads us to a second example, selected from the voluminous Institutio of Quintilian, who not only defines allegory in its own right and with respect to similar figures like enigma and irony, but also provides several well—chosen examples.6 Though a late authority, he is about as valid a one as could be wished for. He begins his explication in terms strikingly similar to those of Demetrius: Allegoria, which they interpret as an inversion, to express one thing in words, to mean another, or even the opposite, in sense. To Quintilian, then, allegory consists of declaring one thing literally but meaning something else figuratively. Remarking upon its similarity to irony, he states that allegory may even involve an "inversion" of meaning; whereupon he presents the first of his examples, the cele- brated "ship of state" ode of Horace: O ship, new waves will bear you into the sea: 0 what do you do? Boldly take port. Quintilian continues by stating that in this passage: . . . the ship for the republic, waves and storms for the civil wars, the port for peace anc concord he means. That is, according to the rhetor, it is necessary to trans- late this passage to grasp its essential meaning; however, there is some degree of ambiguity evident in the passage because Horace's verses could be taken as literally true even as the decree of Dionysius, referred to by Demetrius, which has just been studied above. It is, however, 16 sufficiently clear that the reader must translate the pas- sage in order to understand it properly; Horace's lines about the ship might seem to be literally true to many modern readers at first glance. Yet in View of the politi- cal situation of the times, we are constrained to translate the metaphorical perils which the ship had to endure into those which weighed upon the Roman Republic in Horace's day. And that this translation is necessary is indicated by Horace's use of another rhetorical figure of speech, apostrophe, or direct address. For Horace to be addressing an inanimate object is on a literal level, of course, contrived. Probably no one would insist upon a literal understanding of the versus unless he was uninformed about Horace's life and times. Yet Quintilian, for his part, is not content to rely upon only one example and so he presents others from Lucre- tius, Vergil and Cicero. To go into these secondary examples would be needlessly time-consuming; suffice it to note that in Eclogues 9. 7-10, where the poet refers to him- self as Menalcas, "in truth not the shepherd Menalcas but Vergil is to be understood" (to use Quintilian's words). And indeed that such a translation was readily made by ancient readers is obvious from what Servius has to say in his commentary on the passage.8 In other words, while a modern reader might easily misinterpret the passage as more 17 an enigma than an instance of allegorical expression, and view it as representative of Vergil's obscurity and dark- ness, a cultivated reader of the fourth century like Servius would not have done so. Hence, for allegory to function as allegory it must somehow signal the reader to make the necessary translation from the literal to the figurative sense; otherwise, passages of allegorical expression tend, on the one hand, to lapse into dark obscurity and enigma or, on the other, approach the type of figural allegory which Auerbach has so well outlined when both the literal and figural senses complement each other.9 With these ideas in mind, we can readily appreciate G. W. F. Hegel's recognition that ancient pagan allegory was similar not only to enigma, as even Demetrius and Quintilian were quick to point out, but also to the ancient beast fable.10 But whereas the enigma was dark and obscure, only to be interpreted correctly by a sage or hero or someone of exceptional insight, the beast fable, recounted always with an air of delightful naiveté, was easily intelligible.ll Indeed, it was a genre of popular art which was intended to urge common peasants and laborers to keep their wits about them and practice diligence in their everyday dealings and employments. Aesop's beast fables were also characterized by a pungent wittiness not unlike the acerbity of much Roman satire. In the well-known fable "the Hare and the 18 Tortoise," for instance, the moral is easily comprehended even anticipated. And Hegel is doubtless correct in judging that the best of these beast fables don't seem contrived, so that their morals have the appearance of illustrating natural law.12 According to this criterion, the fable of "the Hare and the Tortoise" would have to be considered as second-rate because it is so blatantly anthropomorphized in that the two animals converse, the tortoise proposing the race, the hare accepting the proposal, with a fox serving as the umpire. The fact that the hare is so vain about his speed, of course, foreshadows his eventual loss of the race and his humiliation. It is significant, also, that the tortoise proposes the race, making us suspect that he might be slow but is still shrewd and has devised a strategy. We somehow never really doubt that the tortoise will finally win, although this foreboding is just the opposite of what we should normally expect. Thus, the storyteller has in fact reversed our natural expectations concerning the fable's outcome; at first thought for a tortoise to beat a hare in a running race is astounding! As it was a genre of popular art, the beast fable thus partakes of the clarity of alle- gory by forcing the reader to translate from the literal to the figural sense of the words. Moreover, it is equally evident that the plots of some of these fables, although not the best of them, were tailor-made for the morals which they were designed to illustrate. In other words, a fable like 19 the hare and the tortoise more closely approaches allegory than some others of the fables because it is so obviously untrue on a literal level. We have been prepared, then, to translate it into figural terms: one thing is said, another intended. But while the foregoing definitions of allegoria are undeniably useful, they do occur in relatively late sources. As a literary process, however, allegory began much before the first century B.C.; and in earlier times this literary process which came to be termed allegoria was termed instead hyponoia.l3 This word, also an abstract noun, is difficult to translate into English but it signi- fied, in the sense of being synonymous to allegoria, what might be called "undersense" or connotation. It is enlightening, however, to refer to a famous early use of this word in Plato's Republic, 378d which well establishes that it was synonymous with the later allegoria; this pas- sage concerns Plato's polemic against Homer, or the "banning of the poets“ as the theme is often called, where Socrates elaborates upon how he would educate the leaders of his ideal city-state: (Socrates speaks) Neither must we admit at all, said I, that gods war with gods and plot against one another and contend--for it is not true either--if we wish our future guardians to deem mothing more shameful than lightly to fall out with one another. Still less must we make battles of gods and giants the subject for them of stories and embroideries, and other enmities many and manifold of gods and heroes toward their kith and kin. But if there is any likelihood of our persuading them that no citi- zen ever quarreled with his fellow citizen and that 20 the very idea of it is an impiety, that is the sort of thing that ought rather to be said by their elders, men and women, to children from the begin- ning and as they grow older, and we must compel the poets to keep close to this in their compositions. But Hera's fetterings by her son and the hurling out of heaven of Hephaestus by his father when he was trying to save his mother from a beating, and the battles of the gods in Homer's verse are things that we must not admit into our city either wrought in allegory or without allegory [i.e., hyponoia]. For the young are not able to distinguish what is and what is not allegory, but whatever opinions are taken into the mind at that age are wont to prove indelible and unalterable. For which reason, maybe, we should do our utmost that the first stories that they hear should be so composed as to bring the fairest lessons of virtue to their ears. Plato's treatment of the poets has seemed unduly harsh to generations of readers. But the scenes in the Iliad which he here objects to posed for Greek writers even before his time distinct difficulties. Plato did not begin this polemic; he only carried forward the tradition of Xenophanes and Heraclitus, the most noteworthy of the Pre-Socratic philosophers who were disturbed, or rather outraged, by the characterization of the gods and the heroes in the epic.15 It must seem odd to at least some readers that Plato's Socrates took these passages so serious as he did because they strike us as delightful, hilarious and innocent. But though he might seem to be overreacting, it should be emphasized that the Iliad was not just the most admired work of early Greek art; it was, in fact, the basis of Greek education before the coming of the Academy and the Lyceum.16 The passage not only explains the connection between allegoria and hyponoia but even suggests how allegory was 21 evidently originally conceived and practiced: a method of interpreting the iiiad, the oldest "scripture" of pagan religion. A study of this early allegorical exegesis of the Homeric poems, naturally, provides insight into the meaning of allegoria as Prudentius must have understood it. The earliest known allegory, then, was as far as can be determined, a method of interpretation of the Homeric poems; it was of two types: physical and ethical.17 That the physical type preceded the ethical merely reflects the physical preoccupations of eminent Pre-Socratics, especially of the Ionians Anaximander and Anaximenes and the Athenian Anaxagoras; their line of inquiry culminated in the natural philosophy of Aristotle. Ethical allegory meanwhile, was developed in large part by the Stoics. Two chief motives inspired the development of early allegory: the need to defend Homer from the hostile criticism of certain philo- sophers and the zealous attempt to use Homer as an authority for the advancement of certain philosophical doctrines. An analogous phenomenon is the use of the Bible to support many diverse views, a procedure extending into modern times. The earliest known allegorist was, similarly, Thea- genes of Rhegium, about whom little is known.18 He is said by Tatian to have lived in the time of the Persian king Cambyses II, the successor of Cyrus the Great, that is, in the late sixth century B.C. (529-522). Tatian also tells 22 us that he was among the oldest researchers of Homer's life and work. The scholiast to Dionysius Thrax reports that the study of "Hellenic" grammar began with him. It appears that Theagenes practiced at least some textual scholarship because the Homeric scholiast Venetus A preserved at line 381 of Book 1 of the iiigd a variant reading supplied by him. But by far the most valuable testimony concerning his work is from the Homeric scholiast Venetus B on iiiad 20.67, where the gods are equated with physical elements: This account of the gods partakes of uselessness and impropriety. For he (i.e., Theagenes) says that these myths about the gods are improper. With respect to this sort of accusation, some (on the one hand) resolve, from the manner of speaking, that the whole passage, particularly in the contentions between the gods, is spoken in an allegory concerning the nature of the first elements. For they say that dryness contends against moisture, warmness against coolness and lightness against heaviness. Besides, water is checked by fire, fire dried up by water. Likewise there is an opposition between all these first ele- ments and bit by bit they are wasted away, though the ALL remains everlastingly. And he (i.e., Homer) has arranged these contentions by calling fire Apollo, Sun and Hephaestus; water, Poseidon and the Skamander; the moon, Artemis; the air, Hera and so on. And like- wise he gives the names of gods to the different traits of a man's diSposition: Athena, to thoughtful- ness; Ares, to thoughtlessness; Aphrodite, to passion; Hermes, to reason . . . Such is the old way of defending (Homer) according to Theagenes of Rhegium, who first wrote on Homer.l The passage in the iiigd_to which this refers is the famous "theomachy." That Theagenes was remembered as an authority on this passage is significant; but scholars dispute why that is 50.20 Nevertheless, it has been seen that Plato's Socrates was troubled by the bad example which 23 Homer's "theomachy" set for the youth of his ideal state. Oddly enough, the physical allegory which Theagenes appears to have originated, then, saves Homes from possible moral censure, whiie it lays claim to him as an authority for the advancement of certain physical doctrines; but precisely what might have motivated Theagenes here is not altogether clear. The next stage in the development of early alle- gorical interpretation is, luckily, more intelligible. "Physical allegory" was carried one step further, and "ethical allegory" was founded by Metrodorus of Lamp— sacos and his master Anaxagoras. Anaxagoras, who was born about 500 B.C. in the Ionian city, Clazomenae, though he spent most of his life at Athens, was almost exclusively concerned with physical phenomena. Apparently, he would instinctively seek a physical explanation for any and all phenomena which exist either in nature or in the fictional writings of poets like Homer. Hence, Anaxagoras was late in life prosecuted for impiety, like Socrates a century later, became exiled from Athens and went to Lampsacus where he set up a school. Evidently, during the later part of his life Metrodorus became his disciple.21 At any rate, the master seems to have added his authority to the development of the "ethical" variety of the allegorical interpretation of the Homeric poems by means of his doc- trine that Homer's poetry concerned Virtue and justice.22 Metrodorus, held an even more extravagant doctrine; namely, 24 that not only the Homeric gods, but also the heroes, were simply what might be called physical elements or human virtues: And Metrodorus of Lampsacus in his book "On Homer" discussed the matter by simply changing everything into an allegory. For he says that not Hera nor Athena nor Zeus are what those who dedicate precincts to and found temples for them think them to be, but that they are rather hypostases of human nature and dispositions of first elements. And not only Hector but also Achilles and, of course, Agamemnon and all the rest of the Hellenes, and the barbarians (i.e., the Trojans and their allies), together with Helen and Paris are introduced, for the sake of economyz as the hypostases of this same human nature . . . 3 No doubt such an ill-conceived doctrine seems absurd. And Tate has appropriately remarked that allegori- cal interpretation was never to become any more fanciful than this.24 Yet no matter how absurd this effort might seem on the surface, a spirit of rationalism underlay it which was nowhere better exhibited than in the work, or rather in what little remains of it, of another writer who practiced allegorical exegesis, Hecataeus of Miletus, probably the first significant Greek writer of history.25 But though the rudiments of early allegory had been formu- lated by thinkers whose philosophical inquiries resembled distinctively those of the Ionian pre—Socratics, the Stoics were instrumental in giving it wide currency. All three of the principal older Stoics, Zeno of Citium, Cleanthes and Chrysippus, practiced allegorical interpretation to some extent. But in order to understand Stoic allegorical exegesis, it is fitting that some account 25 of Stoic theology be rendered, though, despite the true complexity of the Stoics' religious thinking, it must be brief. Only then can we properly appreciate the motives behind their type of allegorical interpretation. Without doubt, Zeller and Wehrli furnish us with the most infor- mation in this endeavor. Stoic theology, was rationalistic, often to excess. It sought, in the first place, to explain key problems, questions and contradictions which were contained in the traditional mythology. In this respect, it was apologetic.26 But the Stoics also used Homer to support their own 27 Zealous teachings, viewing him as a kind of "Pre-Stoic." opponents of atheism, they claimed that men--or at least those who were not utterly ignorant and insensitive--acquired knowledge about divinity in three ways: by observing the harmony of physical nature (especially the stars), by under— standing mythology, and by recognizing man's natural pre— disposition for law and social order. Furthermore, they distinguished seven classes of gods, though all these gods were, they argued, but manifestations of the one god Zeus.28 As a result of this three-part argument which they offered as a proof of the existence of god, they actually revered stars, physical elements and heroes as divine manifesta- tions; a fourth object of their worship was whatever physical phenomena proved useful or serviceable to man.29 Stoic allegorical interpretation was, then, the result of their broad interest in religion and ethics. 26 They practiced both "physical " and "ethical" allegory. Their primary technique of interpretation involved etymo- logizing in the main. Amongst the older Stoics, we know far more about allegorical interpretation as practiced by Chrysippus than by either Zeno or his disciple Cleanthes. Diogenes Laertius reports that Zeno wrote a book about Homeric problems and that he borrowed a distinction which had been made before by Antisthenes, who had blamed nothing in Homer but, on the contrary, had defended him on the grounds that he, Homer, sometimes wrote according to truth, at others, according to opinion.30 The way was thus cleared for interpreters of Homer to free him from the charge of impiety which had often been made against him, notably by Xenophanes and Heraclitus of Ephesus. There are examples of "physical allegory" in the extant fragments of Zeno in that he said Zeus, the highest god, was sky; Hera, air, Poseidon, sea, and Hephaestus, fire and he found etymo- logies for the Titans, Koion, Kreion, Hyperion and Iapetus: the underlying presupposition of this etymologizing was, of course, that the name of a mythological figure or god or hero intimated his inherent nature. There is also evidence that Cleanthes used etymology in the pursuit of allegory.31 Thanks to the scholarly efforts of Wehrli and Pepin, however, we know even more about Chrysippus' type of alle- gorical interpretation. For instance, Chrysippus takes up "physical allegory" in fragment 1021 where he 27 etymologically derives Athena from aether, Hera, from aer and explains that Poseidon is water, Demeter, earth, (DE-=95 'earth') and so forth or in fragment 1084 where he derives Rhea from rhein because "water flows from her." "Ethical allegory," on the other hand, occurs in fragment 1094 where Chrysippus, deriving Ares from the verb anairein, maintains that this god is to be identified with the human predisposition for aggression and anger or, beyond this, where he discusses destiny, by way of demonstrating the etymologies of the three fates Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, 32 in fragments 913 and 914. But the mere survival of so many fragments of Chrysippus' type of allegoria suggests that this method was gaining wide currency. This should not be surprising, considering how influential Stoic teachings became. In fact, Stoic dogma had much in common with cer- tain fundamental Christian beliefs. Not long afterwards, allegorical interpretation was to be seized upon by Chris- tian writers, who used it as a means of rationalizing cer- tain problematic passages in Holy Scripture, particularly in the Old Testament, just as pagan writers had already applied it to their "scriptures," the iiigd and the Odyssey. But early Christian writers such as Origen and saint Ambrose did not borrow the allegorical method directly from the Stoics; instead, they received it from Philo the Jew, whose work was crucial in convincing them that it was an accept- able and legitimate way of viewing Scripture. Their only 28 difficulty arose when it came to deciding exactly which passages should be interpreted allegorically, which not. Hence, upon occasion, it became necessary to defend the literal sense of the Holy Word, to exercise restraint in using the allegorical method. Philo was born in Alexandria and, though Jewish by origin, was Hellenistic by habit of thought. His learning in Greek philosophy was immense; and his writings must have 33 He lived been well known to both Clement and Origen. roughly contemporaneously with Jesus, John the Baptist and St. Paul, though he does not show any evidence of fami- liarity with their work.34 Philo's variety of allegorical interpretation is unrestrained, often lapsing into absurdity. The chief but not sole example of it is the Legum Allegoria in three books. The basis for his theology is his belief in the supreme wisdom of the inspired law-giver Moses; hence, he takes pains to show how all wisdom derived from Moses (and, of course, ultimately from God), even that tradi- tionally ascribed to ancient Greek sages.35 In theology, then, Philo is an eclectic, but it must be emphasized that he is always adapting Greek philosophy to the exigencies of Jewish theology. In other words, he makes use of certain teachings of Greek philosophers to affirm theological preconceptions. Philo's partiality is well illustrated in his substantial use of Plato and the Stoic school, in con- trast to the strident polemic which he wages against the 29 36 While he Epicurean exaltation of the pleasure principle. sparingly and critically makes use of Stoic doctrines, he makes free use of Plato and is especially influenced by Plato's theory of ideas. Furthermore, he manifests a know- ledge of Pythagorean teachings on numbers.37 But having considered these important preliminary facts about the main theological bases of Philo's variety of allegorical inter- pretation, we should next examine it in detail. Philo's main technique of allegorical interpretation consists of etymologizing, the technique favored by the Stoics. There are in his works numerous examples of both "physical" and "ethical" allegory, but the latter type predominates by far. However, Stein has pointed out the desirability of modifying these terms to "physical- cosmological" and "ethical-psychological" respectively so that they might be more accurately descriptive of the strange allegorical exegesis so characteristic of Philo. Examples of "physical-cosmological" allegory in Philo's work include his mentioning that some understand paradise to have been a garden; the sides of Noah's ark, the equi- noxes; or the tree of life, the human heart. Hebrew etymologies which he presents entailing "physical- cosmological" allegory, similarly, are Sella for 'shadow' (skia), Hemar for 'ass' (onos) or Sichem for 'shoulder' (Emos).38 However, to be perfectly accurate, it must be admitted that Philo usually introduces physical-cosmological 30 etymologies and explanations only for the sake of denying their validity; he declares such explanations false, ascribing them to other unnamed exegetes and contrasting these "false" explanations with his own "true" explanations. This tendency in large measure accounts for his preference for "ethical-psychological" allegory. But whereas Philo is reluctant to indulge in "physical-cosmological" allegory, there are many examples of that "ethical-psycholoqical" type in his work, as might be expected, owing to his strong sympathy with Stoicism, a philOSOphy much concerned with ethics. Fanciful though some of these interpretations doubtless are, Philo is in this regard at least more readily appreciated by those modern readers of the Bible who are so often puzzled, like him, by many of the problematic details of Biblical history and the Biblical account of creation. Accordingly, he dealt in his chief allegorical work, the Legum Allegoria, with certain problems that arose in the Book of Genesis. Moreover, he composed another work, the so-called Questions 22 Genesis, which survives only in an Armenian translation; it dealt with certain questions resulting from the literal interpretation of the creation story.39 Here Philo was thoroughly traditional and the title of this last work recalls Heraclitus the Grammarian's Homeric Questions; in the fourth century, the same tendency to question the literalness of a "sacred" (i.e., to the Romans of the later 31 Empire) text is also noticeable in many passages of Servius' commentary on Vergil. Let it suffice for the present purpose to cite some of the most memorable examples of Philo's "ethical-psychological" allegorical interpreta- tion, however. Thus, when, according to Genesis 2:2, it is related that the universe was created in six days, Philo remarks that "It is quite foolish to think that the world was created in six days or in a space of time at all"; and why? Because, he explains, "Every period of time is a series of days and nights, and these can only be made such by the movement of the sun as it goes over and under earth: but the sun is a part of heaven, so that time is confessedly more recent than the world." His discussion then plods on, as he deals with rather loosely related numerical notions, derived primarily from Pythagorean teaching. In terms borrowed from Greek philosophy, he insists that in creating Adam and Eve, God did not literally create people, but instead, nous 'mind' and aisthesis 'sense perception.‘ The serpent which tempted Eve was not literally a serpent; no, it stood allegorically for hEdone 'pleasure.‘ Thereupon, Philo wages a long polemic against the Epicurean exaltation of pleasure. The many etymologies in Philo's work, both true and false, reflect the process of "ethical-psychological" allegory as well (Stein has assembled a large share of them in the concluding section of his treatise).40 Striking examples 32 of these include "divorcement from death" for Methusalah (a false etymology), "scattering" for Pharoah (false), "lowliness, humility" for Lamech (false) or "listening to God" for Ishmael (true). Stein to a greater and Heinemann to a lesser degree have insisted that Philo was borrowing from some unknown theological and philosophical treatises for this etymological lore; and since he often ascribes patently false etymologies to Hebrew words, these scholars have called into question Philo's knowledge of Hebrew. Wolfson, on the contrary, argues (not very forcefully) that he must have known Hebrew.41 This question is in Philo scholarship a hotly contested one; but, be that as it may, Philo's etymologies for two of the rivers of paradise in Book One of the Legum Allegoria are laughable and he even makes the reader wonder if he is truly serious at that juncture: Pison from Greek pheidomai, Geon=st§thos or keratizan 'breast or butting.‘ But, despite this element of absurdity in his work, and despite the fact that there was probably some precedent for the kind of allegorical inter- pretation of the Old Testament which he practiced so fer- vently, Philo remains the father of Christian allegorical exegesis.42 In fact, Tertullian, St. Jerome, Origen and St. Ambrose, among others, bore witness to Philo's monumental contribution to the Christian interpretation of Holy Scrip- ture. And, of course, the sheer volume of his work is overwhelming. Allegorical interpretation, however, while it 33 occupies a commanding position in his work, was not Philo's exclusive concern; he also interpreted some passages of the Bible literally, others symbolically.43 Hence, when we are not incredulous of his interpretations, we are forced to agree with Wolfson that Philo's historical significance is great though most of his thinking is unoriginal. In sum, Philo's work is a definite turning point in the history of early allegory. And while Philo and subse- quent Christian writers appropriated this method of inter- pretation, certain pagan writers other than those which we have studied continued to apply it to both the Homeric poems in particular and Greek mythology in general. The most noteworthy of them was Crates of Mallos, a city in Asia Minor; he was a grammarian who lived in the second century B.C. and was a student of Panaitius the Stoic, an allegorist of Homer and even the putative head of the so- called Pergamum school of ancient grammarians. Not very much is known about Crates' Homeric writings except that he dealt with textual problems and with Homeric geography, perhaps somewhat after the fashion of Hecataeus of Miletus. He also interpreted the Homeric poems in such a way as to show their "veiled" cosmological lore; undoubtedly, he was much influenced by Stoic teaching in this effort.44 A second important early allegorist was the teacher of such major Roman writers as Persius and Lucan and also, as might be expected, a Stoic: L. Annaeus Cornutus; he taught philo- sophy and rhetoric and is reported to have written a Vergil 34 commentary. A work of his on theology survives in which he interprets Greek mythology allegorically by making use of that favorite Stoic allegorical technique, etymologizing.45 The anonymous De Vita E3 Poesi Homeri, up until relatively recently ascribed to Plutarch, is yet another instance of early Homeric allegory; the work has a decidedly apologetic tone and promotes the image of Homer the omniscient, the source of all subtlety and wisdom. A fourth early alle- gorist is Heraclitus the Grammarian who wrote on Homeric 46 A questions; he was a near contemporary of Cornutus. fifth, Porphyry, the NeOplatonist, who lived from 233 A.D. to (circa) 304 A.D.; he was a fierce opponent of Christi- anity, though, early in life, he studied under Origen. Because of Porphyry's enmity towards Christianity, many of his works were destroyed in the fourth century. Aside from his famous commentaries on Plato, this disciple of Plotinus wrote one work on allegorical interpretation, On the Cave g: the Nymphs, and another on Homeric textual problems; the former work survives but only fragments of the latter have been preserved.47 Lastly, it should be mentioned that passages of allegorical interpretation have been found in Eusthatius' Commentaries and Apollodorus' peri thean and that, in antiquity, allegorical interpretation was at times even fiercely objected to, notably by Plato (in his Republic, 378d), Aristarchus the Alexandrian, Tertullian and St. Augustine.48 Thus, allegorical exegesis met with 35 mixed fortunes among both pagan and Christian writers of later antiquity. But now that the origins of allegory have been studied and outlined, it must be asked why the term has become confused, undefined and, according to some, unde- finable, especially since it was clearly distinguished from other figures of speech such as symbol, irony and metaphor by ancient rhetors and grammarians. Surely, many modern literary critics have contributed to this problem because of their imprecise use of the term and ignorance of its history. But even in later antiquity, there was a certain amount of equivocation: while allegory could be used in the strict sense which we have studied here, it also came to mean one of the several levels of symbolic interpretation. In Philo's work, too, there is a certain amount of confusion between the terms allegory and symbol.49 It is small wonder, then, that some have begun to question whether or not the term can or should be redeemed in literary criticism. The term can be redeemed, I believe, by using ancient grammatical and rhetorical handbooks like Quintilian's Institutio as a guide. But, in any case, it is both possible and imperative to perform the more modest task of determining exactly what allegory must have meant--and what it could not have meant--to Prudentius. NOTES TO CHAPTER II 1See A. Williams, "Medieval Allegory: An Opera- tional Approach," MMLA, i, pp. 77-84. The de elocutione has been edited by H. Rhys Roberts, Loeb (1927: rpt. London: Heinemann, 1967); see pp. 255 ff. 20m Dionysius ii, tyrant of Syracuse, see Niese, 0 E0, 2, C015. 904-080 ISU 3Cf. Hegel, pp. 395-98; F. Buffiere, Les Mythes d'Homere 23 ii pensée grecgue (Paris: Budé, 1956), pp. 36- 44. 4See. H. F. Dunbar, Symbolism and Medieval Thought (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1929), pp. 5-11; 475-78. 5I.e., "unerschopflich": see H. G. Gadamer, "Symbol und Allegorie," Archivio di Filosofia, organo dell' Insti- tuto di Studi Filosofici (UniVersita di Roma, 1958), pp. 23- 28, e55. p. 25. 6 Ed. M. Winterbottom (Oxford, 1970), 2 vols.; 8. 6. 44. 7Inst., 8. 6. 22 ff. 8Ed. Thilo and Hagen (Leipzig: Teubner, 1887), i, pp. 110-11. 9See n. 8 to Chapter i above. 1°Hege1, pp. 397 ff.; 383 ff. 11Cf., e. g., the riddle of the Sphinx or the oracle in the myth of Deucalion and Pyrrha (as in Ovid, Meta., i, 381 ff.). 36 37 12Hegel, pp. 385 ff. l3See K. Mfiller, "Allegorische Dichterklfirung," R. E., Suppl IV, col. 17; F. Bfichsel, Theological Dictionary 2i the New Testament, tr. and ed. G. Bromley (Grand Rapids/ London: Eerdmans, 1964), I, p. 260; J. Geffcken, "Allegory, Allegorical Interpretation," Hasting's Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics (New York: ScribnerTs, 1917), I,—p. 328; Pépin, pp. 85-92; Buffiére, pp. 45-48. l4Tr. P. Shorey, The Collected Dialogues 9i Plato, Bollingen Series (Princeton, 1961), p. 625; the Greek quota- tion in brackets is taken from vol. IV of the Oxford edition of Plato's works, ed. J. Burnet (19027. 15See H. Diels and W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 6th ed. 1951; rpt. Berlin, 1968), pp. 132 ff., esp. frs. 11, 12; and p. 160, fr. 42 where Heraclitus says that Homer and Archilochos should be driven away from (poetic) contests and beaten with a rod! 16See Jaeger, Paedeia, tr. G. Highet (New York: Oxford, 1939), i, pp. 1-57. l7See Mfiller, col. 17; Geffcken, p. 328, though this distinction is made in virtually all the scholarly litera- ture on early Homeric allegory. 18On Theagenes see R. Laqueur, R. E., 2nd Reihe, V, 2, col. 1347, nr. 9; Pépin, p. 97; Buferre, pp. 101-05. 19 frs. 2, 3. See Diels and Kranz, i, p. 51, frs. 1, la; p. 52, 20See Wehrli, pp. 89-90 who has offered the theory that this scholium betrays traces of Stoic influence and thus, does not faithfully reproduce Theagenes' commentary since the same passage in the Iliad was subsequently com- mented upon by the Stoic philosophers--as might be expected, to defend Homer from the charge of moral inde- cency. Against this view, it should be remembered that this passage was one of those to which Xenophanes and Heraclitus had strongly objected: see note 15 to this chapter above and Pépin, pp. 98-99, n. 16. 38 21On Anaxagoras see Zeller, Die Philosophie der Griechen, 5th ed., (Leipzig, 1892), i, 2, pp. 968-1038; W. K. C. Guthrie, A History gi Greek Philosophy (Cambridge, 1965), ii, pp. 266-338; Diels and Kranz, ii, pp. 5-44; B. Wellman, R. E., cols. 2076-77, nr. 4, Suppl. I, col. 78; J. C. Classen, ibid., Suppl. Xii, cols. 28-30? On Metro- dorus, Zeller, i, 2, p. 1019; W. Nestle, R. E., XV, 2, cols. 1476-77, nr. 15, "Metrodor's MythendeutungTW Philologus, LXVI (1907). PP. 503-10; Pépin, pp. 99-101; Diels and Kranz, ii, pp. 49-50. 22See Pépin, p. 99. 23Diels and Kranz, I, pp. 49-50, fr. 1. 24J. Tate, "Plato and Allegorical Interpretation," Classical Quarterly, XXIII (1929), p. 144. 25See H. Diels, "Herodot and Hekataios," Hermes, xxrr (1887), pp. 412-44; J. v. Prasek, "Hekataios_—als Herodots Quelle zur Geschichte Vorderasiens," Klio IV (1904), pp. 193-208; Prodicus the Sophist is aIso tHEught to have been an allegorist in that he viewed the gods as simply mythic representations of certain physical phenomena beneficial to mankind; translated thus, Demeter stood for bread; Dionysus, wine; Poseidon, water; Hephaestus, fire (Diels and Kranz, II, p. 317, fr. 5). Such a notion re- sembles the rhetorIEal figure metonymy which became a commonplace in post-Augustan literature: cf. Quintilian, Inst., VIII. 6. 23-28. On Prodicus in general, see K. von Fritz, B. E., XXIII, 1, 85-89, nr. 3: he was notable in Greek philOSOphy as the teacher of Socrates. 26See H. von Arnim, Stoicorum Veterorum Fragmenta (1905; rpt. Stuttgart: Teubner, 1964), i, p. 63, fr. 274, ll. 8 ff. 27Cf. J. Tate, "On the History of Allegorism," Classical Quarterly, XXVIII (1934), pp. 142-54; a similar View of the motives behind'early Greek allegorical inter- pretation is set forth by I. Heinemann, "Die Wissenschaft- 1iche Allegoristik der Griechen," Mnemosyne, Series ii, iXA (1949), pp. 5-18. 28See Wehrli, pp. 52 ff.; Zeller, III, 2, pp. 314 ff., p. 317, n. 3; Arnim, i, p. 42, fr. 155. 39 29Zeller, ibid.; Aeneas was one such hero in ancient Rome: see L. Preller, Ramische Mythologie, 3rd ed. by H. Jordan (Berlin: Weidmann, 1884), ii! pp. 310-15. 30Arnim, I. p. 15, fr. 41; p. 63, fr. 274. There is a scholarly debate about whether Antisthenes should be con- sidered an allegorist: see Tate, "Plato and Allegorical Interpretation," Classical Quarterly, XXIV (1930), pp. 5-10 who argues vigorously against the notion and Pépin, pp. 105 ff. who argues (rather feebly) in favor of it. 31Arnim, 1- p. 41, fr. 154; p. 43, fr. 169; p. 28, fr. 100; on Cleanthes' allegory, ibid., pp. 123-24, frs. 540-43, 546. 32Arnim, ii, p. 305; p. 318 (cf. Wehrli, p. 58); p. 319. 33See E. Stein, Die allegorische Exegese des Philo aus Alexandreia in Beihefte zur Zeitschrift ffir die alttesta- mentliche Wissenschaft, Li (Giessen: Tapelmann, 1929); W. Bousset, Jfidisch-Christlicher Schulbetrieb in Alexandria und Rom, Literarische Untersuchungen EB Philo und Clemens von Alexandria, Justin und Irenaus in Forschungen zur ReligIOn und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testament, N.F., Vi (Gdttingen, 1915), PP. 43-83. 34See the introduction to the Loeb edition to his work, vol. I, ed. Colson and Whitaker (London: Heinemann, 1929)! p0 E. 35See Philo's De Vita Mosis, ed. Colson and Whitaker, vol. VI of hf? collected works in the Loeb series. This notion abofif the indebtedness of Greek PhiloSOphers to Moses had been advanced before Philo by another Jewish allegorist, Aristobolus: concerning whom, see Stein, pp. 6-11; J. Gutmann in the Engyclgpedia Judaica (Jerusalem, 1971), p. 444; Zeller, iii,2, pp.4259-64. 36 In Legum Allegoriae, Loeb, ii, pp. 268 ff. 37See Colson and Whitaker, Intro., i; Pépin, pp. 231-42; H. Wolfson, Philo (Cambridge Mass., 1947), i, pp. 88 ff.; Zeller, III, 2, pp. 338 ff. 38$tein, pp. 3 ff.; 28 ff.; 53 ff. 40 39This work has been translated into English by R. Marcus in Suppl. i of the Loeb edition of Philo's collected works. 40See Legum Allegoriae, i, pp. 146 ff.; 206 ff.; 224 ff.; 268 ff.; Stain, pp. 53-61. 41See Stein, pp. 20-26; Wolfson, i, pp. 88 ff.; I. Heinemann, "Hellenstica," Monatschrift ffir Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums, LXXIII (1929), pp. 431-34. 42See Stein, pp. 6-18; 32-41; Bousset, pp. 43-45. 43cr. Wolfson, pp. 55 ff. 44On whom, see Wehrli, pp. 40 ff.; W. Kroll, R.E., ii, cols. 1634-41, nr. 16; K. Reinhardt, De Graecorum— _ Theologia, Capita Duo Diss. (Berlin, 1910TT pp. 59-80; Pépin, pp. 153-55; Buffiere, pp. 67 ff. 45See J. Tate, "Cornutus and the Poets," Classical Quarterly, XXIII (1929), pp. 41-45; Arnim, R.E., i, cols. 2225-26, nr. 5 and Nock, ibid., Suppl. V, cols. 995-1005; Pépin, pp. 156-59; Buffiere, pp. 71-72. 46On Pseudo-Plutarch, see Wehrli, pp. 3-40; K. Ziegler, R.E., XXI, 1, cols. 874-78; Pépin, p. 167; Rein- hardt, De Theolagia, pp. 5-35; Buffiere, pp. 72-77; on Heraclitus, Pepin, pp. 159-67; Buffiere, pp. 67-70; Rein- hardt, R.E., VIII, cols. 508-10. 4723 Antro Nympharum, ed. A. Nauck, Porphyrii Opuscula, 2nd ed. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1886), pp. 54-81; Porphyry's Homeric Questions have been assembled and edited by H. Schrader (Leipzig, 1880); on Porphyry in general, see R. Beutler, R.E., XXII, l, cols. 275-313; on the "Cave of the Nymphs," ngin, pp. 462-66; Buffiere, pp. 70, 419-37; on the Homeric Questions, see Reinhardt, De Theologia, pp. 83-94. 48Cf. Reinhardt, De Theologia, pp. 83-121; Pépin, pp. 155-56, 12-24, 168-72, 276-306; on Aristarchus, see Cohn, R.E., II, cols. 862-73; P. Cauer, Grundfragen der HomerkfiEik,—3rd ed. (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1923), pp. 51-71. 41 49Cf. H. F. Dunbar, pp. 263-82, App. IV, pt. 1, iii, pp. 497-99; H. de Lubac, Exegese Médiévale (PEFis: Aubier, 1959), i, 1, pp. 171-219; on the confusion between allegory and symbol, see Buffiére, pp. 45-65, esp. p. 51, n. 35 where the etymology of symbolon is discussed; and Liddell and Scott's Greek dictionary, under symbolon. CHAPTER III PERSONIFICATION AND PROSOPOPOEIA Our English word personification derives ultimately from the French personnifier. The verbal suffix-fier derives from the Latin facio 'do, make.‘ The word, then, denotes a process, namely the making of something into a personne 'body or person.‘ According to the distinctions which Williams has introduced in "Medieval Allegory: An Operational Approach," we can simply describe personifi- cation as a process and the perfect end result of that process a personation.l In actual literary practice, it might even be said that a personation is the most highly successful personification possible because it more resembles a real-life person and less a process. Thus, to refer to Williams' examples, Reason or Idleness can easily be dramatized or personified but they do not much resemble either dramatic personages or any real-life person. Per- sonations, on.the other hand, like Acrasia or Sans Loy in the Faerie Queen are more successful literary creations: though they too dormn:much resemble real-life people, their activity is freer than that of Reason or Idleness because 42 43 they are so vaguely conceived; hence they aid rather than hinder narrative development. The verb personnifier was, to continue, first coined by Boileau, in his Eleventh Reflection gnLonginus.2 In this work, Boileau was trying at once to set forth what he thought were the proper circumstances for the use of this figure of speech and to defend his close literary associate, the playwright Racine, from the trifling criticism of another contemporary writer and one of Boileau's confreres in the Académie Francaise, Antoine de la Motte. According to Boileau, de la Motte, in a treatise which he had written about the ode, a treatise which prefaced different editions of his own poetry, accused Racine of literary impropriety in the following verse of his play Phedre (which occurs when Theramene describes to the bereaved Theseus the sea monster which killed Hippolyte): Le flot qui l'apporta recule épouvante . . . (y. ii. 1524) Quoting a passage from Longinus, Boileau thought that Racine's verse was far from being so ridiculous as de la Motte's criticism implied. Boileau maintained that Racine was inspired when he wrote the verse, moved by what Longinus called the sublime and grand passions--that Racine wanted to move the play's spectators and so made bold to employ this figure of speech to bring out the true horror of the monster which Neptune had sent. And, of course, since the line was in the play, it was not communicated directly by the poet to the audience but rather uttered by 44 Theraméne. Boileau saw ample precedent for Racine's use of this figure of speech in the Aeneid and quoted lines spoken by Aeneas where Vergil had also had recourse to it. And, after all, Boileau went on: . . . i1 n'y a point de figure plus ordinaire dans la poésie que de personnifier 1es choses inanimées, et de leur donner du sentiment, de la vie des passions. Boileau was quick to agree with Longinus that the use of this figure of speech was not only permissible in certain contexts but imperative. Theramene was horrified by the monster and, in turn, horrified all who heard his account of it. Here, then, it can be seen that the process which was originally termed "personifying" was the ascribing of feelings, life and passions to inanimate objects such as the sea-wave in Racine's verse. A current scholarly French dictionary, accordingly, lists the first definition of personnifier as: "évoquer, représenter (une chose abstraite ou inanimée) sous 1es traits d'une personne . . . Person- nifier la destinée . . . la mer . . ."; and the second as: "Realiser, montrer dans sa personne une qualité, un caractere, un defaut, d' une maniere exemplaire. 11 per- sonnifie l'honneteté." At least two English standard desk dictionaries list the same basic definitions for the word personification.4 To be explicit, although the process of representing an abstraction under the traits of a person is, certainly, one kind of personification it is not the 45 only kind; furthermore, personifying as Boileau originally conceived it when he coined personnifier was, instead, the representing of the inanimate under the traits of a person. With these definitions of personifying in mind, one is better prepared for a proper understanding of the per- sonages of the Psychomachia. The term personification pro- bably would have been readily intelligible to Prudentius. At any rate, there was a rhetorical term in Latin roughly comparable to personification, a rhetorical term taken from Greek: prosopopoeia.5 The word prosop0poeia derives from prosapon the Greek word for 'face,' then, 'theatrical mask.‘ By exten- sion, the word could also refer to the dramatis personae of a Greek tragedy and is regularly so used by the anony- mous late editors of Greek plays. A prosapon, then, was a persona in a drama and it is fitting here to avoid with Williams the use of the rather loaded (with problematical associations) word character. There are, for instance, in AristOphanes' £3323, prosapa which are abstractions such as Kydoimos, Eirene and Polemos, but any other persona, god, hero or man, in any other Greek play is equally a prosapon. Yet it is even more enlightening, in this regard, to pay close attention to the citations of prosopopoeia listed in the Liddell and Scott Greek Dictionary. A study of these passages makes clear that prosopopoeia, as Beatrice uses it, in the sense of the dramatizing of an abstraction, was 46 a restricted, special meaning of this word. There are six citations of the word, of which the value of two is dimi- nished by textual problems. Probably the earliest reference to prosopopoeia is in a rhetorical work of the mid-first century B.C., d3 elocutione (already referred to above in connection with allegory) ascribed to Demetrius Phalereus. In the fifth book, where the rhetor discusses the forcible style, prosopgpoeia is explicitly described: That called prosopopoeia, used for the sake of seriousness, would receive its meaning thus: for instance, "imagine that forbears reproach and speak thus and so or Hellas or the fatherland, assuming the form of a woman." As in the funeral oration (i.e., the Menexenus) Plato (writes) "0 children, because you are of good fathers," and does not speak in his own person but in that of the fathers. For dramas appear more forceful and serious through the use of personas (i.e., prosopa), or rather less contrived. (3, 265-66) Here it is evident that this figure of speech consists not of the dramatizing of an abstraction but rather of the fatherland or of dead ancestors, as of the Athenians in Plato's dialogue Menexenus--a fact the full significance of which is lost upon Beatrice since he is unable to view the passage impartially.7 Furthermore, Dionysius of Hali- carnassus, makes use of this term in his short work, is Veterum Censura.8 It is, of course, interesting if not startling that Dionysius mentions this figure of speech in connection not with literary writers or orators but with the historians 47 Herodotus and Thucydides. Evaluating their weak and strong points in relation to one another, Dionysius attempts to compare the various virtues of the two historians. He details also in what respects they equal each other. Thus, Thucydides' work is distinguished for him by its force and tension while Herodotus surpasses Thucydides in pleasing- ness, persuasion, grace and plainness: In strength, force and with an intensity both extra- ordinary and multiform, Thucydides excels. While we find Herodotus (if unexamined) preferable by far in pleasingness, persuasion, grace and plainness. But in pursuit of this last turn of phrase, he doesn't watch carefully over the treatment of a subject as distinct from dramatization. (Vett. Cens., III, pp. 226-27) For Dionysius, then, Herodotus' chief virtue, his plainness, is also deemed a flaw because the historian does not observe, like his younger rival Thucydides, a neat distinction between prosopopoeia, the speeches of the vari- ous personas in his narrative, and the pragmateia, the representation and treatment of their actions. By contrast, Dionysius continues, Thucydides excels Herodotus in the ability to create a type of dramatic tension which is extra- ordinary though appropriate to the specific context in which it occurs. Thucydides, that is, is careful to make the speeches of his personas reflect their temperaments and personalities. A good example of Herodotus' failure in this respect is discovered in the famous story of Cyrus' birth and his miraculous preservation from death recounted in Book One, where the lifeless, formal exchange of words 48 between Astyages and Harpagos fulfills the bare necessity of advancing Herodotus' narrative but does nothing to heighten the tension of the scene. But, of course, Hero- dotus was here simply recording an event of legendary Persian history and, therefore, was forced to recreate the scene imaginatively; or he may have been, as Frasek argues, following written or oral sources to a great extent.9 None- theless, it is readily apparent that Herodotus had not at first hand witnessed the curt dialogue which makes up part of the incident, and the rather monotonous tone of these speeches themselves serves to underscore Herodotus' lack of discrimination between the demands of narrative and those of dialogue writing. And so, whether Dionysius here gives voice to a general complaint against the "father of history" or simply states his own view candidly is of no import; one must agree that Thucydides' brand of historical writing is in a very basic sense a refinement over the rather loosely organized style of Herodotus. And the next reference to prosopopoeia drawn from Liddell and Scott again extols the sophistication of Thucydides' art. Although it is dated relatively late, Marcellinus' Bigs or life of Thucydides provides a wealth of information about the historian; to what extent this information is trustworthy is another question. Still Marcellinus does shed some light upon what were probably widely held views about Thucydides' art and, in the process, enables us to 49 receive yet a better conception of exactly what was meant by the term prosopopoeia. In a passage where he is at pains to sketch some- thing of Thucydides' intellectual pursuits and character, Marcellinus reports that he was a zElStEs or zealous imitator of Homer. But, more importantly, he refined Greek historical writing, as Marcellinus claims, in words reminiscent of Dionysius' judgements upon Herodotus and Thucydides: While the prose writers and historians before him (i.e., Thucydides) introduced spiritless accounts by using the mere narration of events, by not assuming personas in some of their accounts and by not composing public orations (though Herodotus attempted this technique rather unsuccessfully--for he composed dramatizations of few words more than public orations), this writer alone (i.e., T.) hit upon the use of public orations and composed them perfectly by dividing them into chapters and sec- tions, so that these orations flattered a faction. This is the very model of perfect storytelling.10 In this passage, Marcellinus affirms that one feature of Thucydides' art as an historical writer was as much appreciated by readers of the ancient world as it is by moderns: the dramatizing of historical personas. Like Dionysius, Marcellinus contrasts Thucydides' peculiar art with Herodotus'. implying that Thucydides' chief merit consisted of improving upon the techniques of the earlier historians like Herodotus who had relied almost exclusively upon the narrating of events in representing Greek history. Thucydides, for his part, composed structurally elaborate speeches which reflected something of the characters of his 50 individual personas and even made the speakers subtly flatter certain political factions in the (presumed) audience. Thucydides' aim in the presentation of these "public orations," it would seem, was to show the reader the horrifying power of the demagogue over public assemblies--for Thucydides £2 plEthos 'the crowd.‘ This restrained though rigid antipathy to democracy so cunningly worked into Thucydides' history can be accounted for by the fact that Thucydides' himself descended from aristocrats.11 But, of course, Thucydides art is as effectively disguised by his subtle use of such rhetorical devices as prosopo- pggig as by his calm, restrained and straightforward tone, a quality which has helped him win lasting literary fame. Nor are these three passages the only citations of prosopo- pggi§_which Liddell and Scott furnish. A fourth reference to this figure of speech, then, is by Hermogenes, a rhetor of the second century A.D. In progymnasmata, he speaks at some length about prosopopoeia though indirectly, by way of contrasting it with another rhetorical technique, ethOpoiia 'the making of ethea' or 'character, temper, disposition.‘ He gives two possible examples of prosopopoeia, the one the dramatizing of the abstraction Elenchos in one of Menander's plays, the other of the sea in Aristides, which at some point addresses the Athenians. The first example is of prOSOpOpoeia in the restricted sense of the word which Beatrice has so thoroughly examined. The second, on the other hand, recalls Boileau's 51 definition of personnifier as the ascribing of human actions or emotions to inanimate objects. The remaining two references are of even slighter value because they are marred by important textual problems and accordingly will not be examined in this study.12 Thus, though these three passages may not lend great weight to the argument that prosopopoeia usually meant dra- matizing in general rather than the dramatizing of abstrac- tions in particular, they echo the language which has been found in the passages previously discussed; at worst, they by no means rule out the former line of interpretation. This evidence, I submit, makes possible a more comprehensive and intelligible conception of the figure prosopopoeia. It remains to summarize the conclusions which may be drawn from such evidence. First, even if the term personification might not have been readily understood by Prudentius, he would have understood the process that the word often signifies, namely the personifying or dramatizing of an abstraction. Second, that the ancient rhetorical term which approximated personi- fication in this sense was prosopopoeia, though it only roughly approximated personification because it meant 'dramatizing' of any kind. And, finally, that there is no necessary connection between the rhetorical figure personi- fication and allegory. Thus, to sum up, we have seen that the term allegory as it has been applied to the Psychomachia refers to two 52 different (creative) literary processes. The first, "scriptural allegory," has been well studied by Auerbach, Herzog and other Prudentius scholars; the second has been termed rather inappropriately "personification allegory." But by examining the history of personification we noticed that it only roughly corresponds to the ancient term prosopopoeia; and the survey of early Homeric allegory has made us more aware not only of precisely what allegory as a literary process involved in the ancient world but also of its distinctness from the rhetorical figure prosopopoeia. There have been, indeed, numerous causes for this confusion between allegory and personification and it has sufficed for our purposes to determine only a few of the most important ones. It now remains to demonstrate that those figures in the Psyghomachia which have been so often termed personifications, like Fides, Spes, Sobrietas and Ira, are not truly such: they were, instead, actual deities and demonic powers in pagan Roman religion, a religion being revived unsuccessfully in the fourth century by reactionary Romans to whom the ancient traditions were sacred. Eventually, it will be necessary, too, to determine that there is, nevertheless, a second, non-scriptural allegorical element in the poem, though that element should not at all be termed "personification allegory." NOTES TO CHAPTER III lWilliams, p. 79: "The beginning stage of personation is personification." See p. 80 as well. 2Cited by Littré, Dictionnaire is is langue francaise (Paris, 1863). 3Oeuvres, ed. M. Amar (Paris, 1864), pp. 490-91. 4See P. Robert's Dictionnaire alphabétique et analo- gigue is i3 langue francaise (Paris, 1962) V. Cf. 5150 the o. E. 2., iii: "a dramatic representation or literary description of a person or character. Rare." I have con- sulted, too, the Webster's New WOrld and the Merriam-Webster New Collegiate dictionaries. 5This term has been discussed at some length by Beatrice, pp. 29 ff., informatively but tendentiously. Unfortunately, he does not distinguish between the two pos- sible senses of prosopopoeia in Latin and he relies too much upon a single reference to the term in Quintilian without troubling to see how it was used in Greek. Harper's Latin dictionary, for instance, points out that prosopopoeia had two possible senses even in Latin: it could mean personifi- cation in the sense of the first above-mentioned definition of personnifier or simply a "dramatizing"; and it is the second of these two definitions which is the original meaning of the word in Greek. In fact, the citations of this term in the Liddell and Scott Greek dictionary should convince anyone that this word first had a general kind of sense "a dramatizing" and only later came to have the more restricted sense "the dramatizing of an abstraction" in certain contexts. 6Williams, p. 78. 7Cf. Beatrice, pp. 30-31, n. 12. 53 54 8Ed. A. Maio (Leipzig, 1870) vols. y and g, pp. 222 ff.; in fact, however, this work may be earlier than the is elocutione, which is of uncertain date. 9On Frasek's article, see n. 25 to Chapter II above. See, too, J. Myres, Herodotus, Father 9: History (O§IOrd, 1953), pp. 159 ff. Note Aristotle's famous characterization of Herodotus' style as the "eiromene lexis" in Rhet., iii. 9. l. 10Ed. H. Stuart Jones and J. E. Powell, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1942), 38 ff. Liddell and Scott date it at the fourth century A.D. llSee Bios, 18 ff. 2Hermogenes' progymnasmata has been edited by H. Rabe (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913); see pp. 20-21. On_the fifth reference, in Philodemus' tract, see eri poiematon, Ffinftes Buch, ed. C. Jensen (Berlin: Weidmann, 23), 12. In this text, prosgpopoeia is a reading supplied by Kentenich; one should, however, consult Jensen's explanation of the passage, pp. 102 ff. The fifth is in Hermias Alexandrinus' Scholia in Phraedrum Platonis, ed. P. Couvreur (Paris, 1901); SEE Ehe scholium on 260d, pp. 221-22. There proso- popoeia is a reading of one manuscript (A) but at least makes good sense in the context. CHAPTER IV THE DEIFIED VIRTUES . . . Eris . . . Phobos, Deimos, Kydoimos, Zelos, Nike, and others. Only the most superficial con- sideration, however, can call such a usage alle- gorical. It is simply owing to the difficulty we have in analyzing such a pantheon of abstract conceptions and such a theology, and for want of a better term, that we call them personifications. (J. Geffcken, "Allegory, Allegorical Interpreta- tion," in Hasting's Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, i, p. 328T '_— Since the necessity of coming to a proper under- standing of the Virtues and Vices in the Psychomachia has been duly emphasized and it has been claimed that they do not in fact correspond to what we would term today personi- fied abstractions, their true nature and identity should now be established. According to modern aesthetic judge- ment they are pure artifice. But what did they mean to a contemporary audience? That the Psychomachia has been studied more by Renaissance scholars than by classicists has helped to make the poem less obscure, but has tended to cause readers to overlook the poem's historical dimensions. Dressel, for example, suggested early that it was a poem about pagan religion.1 But the full significance of his view can only 55 56 be appreciated when we examine the religious milieu of the late fourth and early fifth century. Certainly, Saint Augustine's tireless ridicule of the Roman religion, a religion characterized by painstakingly performed state rituals and by a multitude of private and public cults, is memorable to all readers of the EiEZ.2£ 99d. But in ridiculing the Roman religion, Augustine also preserved invaluable lore about it. Thanks to him we have come to possess some extensive fragments of Varro, the anti- quarian and authority on ancient Roman religion.2 One of the many strange facts which these fragments relate is that the Romans from quite ancient times onward worshipped a class of beings, whose names we would today term abstract nouns, which were conceived of as vague spiritual, psychological and social powers. Although the names of many of these powers have been preserved from a variety of sources besides the polemical Augustine, there has arisen a scholarly debate about how they should be termed as a class. It appears that the Romans themselves called them "numina." But certain scholars of Roman religion would prefer to term them "diamons," after- the Greek fashion, because the use of this latter term is so much more widely attested with reference to similar divine powers in heathen Greek religion.3 That the Romans could have worshipped such vaguely conceived powers as Hope (Spas) and Faith (Fides) and so many others seems to modern sensibility incredible. Yet that they did so is 57 indisputable. As the prefatory quotation from Geffcken intimates, certain classicists are aware of the Romans' wor- ship of these powers. Few non-classicists, however, are aware of the important place which they as a class occupied in the Roman state religion. What is yet more perplexing is that those few scholars who have recognized that the Virtues of the Psyghomachia were not merely "frigid" abstract per- sonifications, but actual heathen Roman deities, have not fully appreciated the implications of their own insight.4 For the obscure figures of the Psychomachia might, at least conceivably, have been equivalent to what we would term today personifications. Or they might have been deities. They could not, however, have been both. Admittedly, when it comes to specifics, the avail- able information on the different deified powers or Virtues of the Psychomachia is not as extensive as one would wish. Certainly, Roman worship in historical times for the most part centered on the twelve gods and goddesses which cor- responded to and in large measure derived from the Greek anthropomorphic "Olympian" deities such as Jupiter, Juno, Mars and so forth. As a result, we know much more about these major "Olympian" deities than about the innumerable minor deities of the Roman religion. Yet the evidence con- cerning the Roman worship of the Virtues, if not abundant, is ample enough to show that Prudentius, a true Roman in education as well as in sentiment, was not here indulging 58 in mere pompous rhetoric. He intended rather to present deities which were still worshipped, by many wealthy Roman senators and conservative literary men of the times at least. In this respect, Prudentius' aim was probably much like Augustine's: to satirize these strange Roman deities (cf. "ridiculos deos" Apg_h. 187); but, beyond that, to recast them into a distinctively Christian image. In this way, he could hope to make Christianity more acceptable to his readers, that is, more "Roman." At any rate, it is by no means coincidental that there is evidence of state cults for practically every one of the Virtues in the Psychomachia. Of the three Virtues which seem to be exceptions to this rule, Operatio, Ratio and Mens Humilis, the first, if it is truly an instance of what might be rightly termed per- sonification, is a word which had special significance in pagan worship.5 The second, however, is nothing more than a translation of the Greek "logos," which early appeared in the plural as a chthonic deity, the offspring of Eris, in Hesiod's Theogeny, and was in the singular later associated (as a positive instead of as a negative power) with Hermes.6 The third, Mens Humilis, is simply Prudentius' modification in Christian terminology of the Roman deity Mens; the ad- jective Humilis reflects the recurrent tendency of the pagan Romans to add cult titles or by-names to their deities so that these deities were worshipped under a variety of aspects or functions--a tendency which is paralleled in Greek reli- gion.7 In addition, that these beings were called Virtues 59 by the Romans as well as by Prudentius itself suggests their status as divine powers in Roman religion, for the root of virtus was thought then to be related to yis 'force, power.‘8 But next, let us look at three of these Virtues in detail, in order to demonstrate our contention.9 The first Virtue which is presented in the poem, Fides, occupied an extremely important place in the Roman state religion. Fides' main function was to preside over the making (or, if necessary, to punish the breaking) of oaths. Hence, Fides was closely associated with the Jove who over- saw oathmaking, Divus Fidius; and it is reported that on the festival day of Fides, the three major flamens rode in a wagon during the sacred procession to the temple of Fides, which stood next to that of Capitoline Jupiter. It has been thought by some that copies of international treaties were protected in this Capitoline temple of Fides because oaths were solemnly exchanged in the ceremonies which consecrated the drawing up of such treaties. In Republican times, the college of Fetials was even appointed to perform these cere- monies. This deity was also commemorated on Roman coins. As time went on, furthermore, Fides came to preside over other aspects of Roman life besides oath-making. That Pru- dentius was aware of Fides as an old Roman deity presiding over oaths is made virtually certain by the following lines: cana Fides gremio tenerisque oblectat alumnam (Ham., 853) 60 hunc sincera Fides simul et Concordia, sacro foedere iuratae Christi sub amore sorores, conscendunt apicem; . . . (Egygh,, 734-36) For the adjective £323 in the first line refers to the antiquity of the Fides cult, while the phrase "sacro foedere iuratae," an etymological word play (iid3s_is etymologically akin to foedus), is a reference to Fides' presidence over oaths. The prominent role which Fides plays in Prudentius' poem is, of course, due to its promi- nent place among the Roman daimons.10 Another Virtue, Spes, was conceived of by Romans as a force governing human destiny and the earth's fertility. In particular, this Virtue stood for victory in war and for the health of the state: the earliest known religious monuments erected in its honor were built in critical war- time years. As an agricultural power, Spes oversaw the fertility of gardens. Hence in Rome there was, from the time of the First Punic War onwards, a temple of Spes located near the Forum Holitorium. The Spes cult was closely connected with the cults of two other principal Virtues, Fortuna and Salus, in certain inscriptions. In later Roman art, Spes, like so many other Virtues, was anthropomorphized as a goddess--probably because the name was grammatically feminine in gender--and was frequently depicted holding a cornuc0pia or a blossoming flower. In Imperial times, the Caesars honored this Virtue as a promoter of the welfare of Roman youth with the epithet "augusta" and, therefore, 61 the Spes cult also became associated with that of yet another Virtue, Iuventus. Because of the fragmentary con- dition of the surviving evidence concerning the Spes cult, it is impossible to determine from exactly which era in Roman history it stems, but since the Virtue was referred to by annalists as "vetus Spes," one is led to believe that the cult began before the Punic Wars. At any rate, a "sacerdos" was in chargeof the cult worship.ll A third Virtue, Sobrietas, which also appears momentarily in the tale of Amor and Psyche in Apuleius' Metamorphoses, is, as Otto has pointed out, a translation of the Greek SaphrosynE. The Greek Anthology refers to this same SaphrosynE in an anonymous epigram, by way of comme- morating a mythic battle between the Virtue and Eros--a motif which figures, too, in Venus' speech in Apuleius. That Prudentius knew of this mythic battle is demonstrated by gsygh., 436-38. Saphrosyne was said to be the daughter of Aidos, a Virtue appearing in Hesiod's Works and Days. According to Theognis, Sophrosyng and Pistis (the Greek equivalent of Roman Fides) abandoned Earth at the end of the Golden Age and retired to Olympus. In the Hermetic corpus, similarly, men were thought to have been endowed with this Virtue by Hermes. As certain inscriptions indi- cate, Saphrosyne cults existed both in Phrygia and Syria in the later Empire when the influence of Eastern religions was widespread, particularly in the East.12 But if the 62 status of this and of the other Virtues of the Psychomachia as daimons in heathen Roman religion is by now sufficiently established, it remains to inquire into the motives behind this strange Virtue worship. At one time it was suspected by certain scholars that Virtue worship was a relatively late development in the history of heathen Roman religion. Since the Virtues were minor deities, less evidence concerning their cults has sur- vived than has concerning the cults of the Olympian deities. Thanks to the efforts of twentieth century scholars, above all Wissowa, it is now possible to determine that, far from being an unprecedented or adventitious development, Virtue worship was closely related to certain tendencies which characterized ancient Roman religious history as far back as it can be traced. In fact, daimon or numen worship was most likely a prominent feature of primitive Roman religion long before it was exposed to the overwhelming influences of Greek religion. Wissowa for one has stressed that the study of Roman religion must principally concern itself with attempting to distinguish between one class of deities which was natively Roman, Latin or Italic and another which was imported from Greece or the East. The Romans themselves, or at least Roman antiquarians like Varro, were certainly conscious of such a distinction. At any rate, two daimons native to Italy, Ops and Salus, came to be worshipped per- haps even before or at about the same time as Fides. Ops 63 was a fertility goddess whose cult in time became closely associated with Ceres worship and this deity probably ori- ginated before the Romans were an urban people, when they were still, in other words, largely tillers of the soil. Salus, on the other hand, not a personal deity, but instead, a tutelary power presiding over the welfare, the "health," 'that is, of the state, was a product of the early Roman city- state.13 But though there can no longer be any serious doubts entertained about the existence of daimons in primi- tive times, the number of daimons in Roman worship was greatly multiplied by Roman contacts with the Greek culture of Southern Italy and Sicily and, more precisely, by the frequent consultations of the superstitious Romans with the Sibylline books. Nor have theories seeking to account for the remark- able proliferation of Roman daimons been lacking, particu- larly as the study of comparative religion and anthropoloqy has progressed in this century. In the English-speaking world, this study has been advanced by several different British scholars, including J. G. Frazer and W. Warde Fowler. Thus, in what is still the basic work written in English on ancient Roman religion, The Religious Experience Q: the Roman People, Fowler has aptly described daimon wor- ship as an advanced stage of animism: The old Roman seems to have had a tendency to ascribe what for want of a better word we may call divinity, not only to animate and inanimate objects, but to actions and abstractions; this, I take it, is an advanced stage of animism, peculiar, it would seem, 64 to a highly practical agricultural people, and it is this stage which is reflected in the ritualistic work of the priests. They turned dim and nameless powers into definite and prehensible deities with names, and arranged them in groups so as to fall in with the life of the city as well as the farm. What was the result of all this ingenuity, or whether it had any popular result at all, is a question hardly admitting of solution. What is really interesting in the matter, if my view is the right one, is the curious way in which the early Roman seems to have looked upon all life and force and action, human or other, as in some sense associated with and the result of, divine or spiritual agency.14 But if these observations point to a tendency deeply rooted in Roman religious consciousness, a tendency which was to manifest itself in Roman religious history again and again, it must not be overlooked that there was another strong motive underlying the multiplication of Roman daimons: the ascribing of adjectival cult titles to the Olympian deities, titles which, in turn, became somehow dissociated and detached from the Olympian deities to achieve independent status as the names of indefinitely conceived divine powers or agents. This process has been well outlined by Usener in his book Gotternamen, and it is even illustrated by the Virtue Mens Humilis in the Psycho- machia. Usener, attentive to the many cult titles of the Olympians, noticed that many of these titles derived from adjectives. Thus, two cult titles of Athena were Hygieia and NikE; at some point these cult titles achieved separate status as simply Hygieia and NikE, that is, they came to be used substantively, and, in turn, became nouns. Even more pertinent to this discussion is one cult title of Athena, 65 saphrSh (cf. the Latin Mercurius Sobrius); it is from this cult title that SSphrosyne presumably arose. This process can be illustrated, too, by Prudentius' Virtue Mens Humilis: Prudentius here merely added to the Roman deity Mens the cult title--probably his own invention--Humilis. Had this particular Virtue actually gone through the above-mentioned process in Roman religion, an independent deity, Humilitas, would have originated. And since Prudentius shows himself to be utterly steeped in the religious lore of the heathen Romans in his other works, it is only reasonable to suppose that he was aware of the process through which cult titles often became independent daimons.ls Along with Augustine, Prudentius is, in fact, one of the best later authorities for the study of Roman religion--Gibbon will testify to that. Of course, the most famous instance of the repre- sentation of such daimons in ancient literature is no doubt Hesiod in the Theogony and the E2£§§ and Egys. Unfortu- nately, both these works have been misunderstood in much the same way as the Psychomachia: older scholars became accus- tomed to term the daimons presented in Hesiod's poetry mere personifications. At any rate, Lesky, in his recent History 2i Greek Literature, has managed to correct this misunder- standing by insisting upon the essentially daimonic nature of the many dim beings such as Dike, Aidas and Elpis which figure so largely in Hesiod's poetry. It is noteworthy as well that many of these Hesiodic daimons roughly 66 correspond to certain Roman daimons: Dik§=Iustitia, Aid55= Pudicitia, Elpis=Spes, Fortuna=Tych§, EireneéPax, H5b§= Iuventas, NikeéVictoria. After belief in these and other similar divine forces and Virtues declined--and since many of their cults were probably local anyway (in Greece especially)--they were well on their way to becoming "frigid abstractions": as they entered, that is, into early Christian patristic writing. To Christian writers after Augustine, writers who no longer possessed, as Augustine had, knowledge about the heathen Virtue cults, these strange divinities appeared to be simply rhetorical figures.16 But just as Virtue worship was rooted deeply in the religious consciousness of the Romans, it acquired a theo- logical rationale in certain ethical doctrines of Stoic philosophy. As time went on, Stoic teaching on the Virtues underwent, however, distinct modifications, as would naturally be expected, since Stoicism proved so viable. In effect, whereas Zeno's teaching on the Virtues was rather elementary, though seminal, that of the later Stoics became more elaborate and formalized. Despite these modifications, the Stoics seemed generally agreed that all Virtues derived from Wisdom (Sophia). In the Psychomachia, there is even a reminiscence of this doctrine in that Prudentius presents Sapientia (=the Stoic SOphia) as the power presiding over all the Virtues. Originally positing four cardinal Virtues only, the Stoics, especially Chrysippus, came to distinguish 67 many more. In Chrysippus' tendency to multiply Virtues, however, there was nothing strange: for once the existence of more than one Virtue is admitted, it is reasonable to posit the existence of yet more. This tendency soon came under attack, nevertheless, by later Stoics who saw that Virtues subsisted in actions in certain situations: Virtues could not, therefore, achieve independent existence as divine powers. These later Stoics also found conceptual problems with many of the definitions of individual Virtues which had been formulated by earlier Stoics. Later Stoics insisted, instead, upon the fundamental unity of Virtue. For them behavior had to be judged by an absolute standard. Individual actions could not partake of several Virtues in varying degrees: actions were either absolutely virtuous or not. And even though the Stoic school had, for all practical purposes, declined by the third century A.D., much of its Virtue teaching was adopted by the Neoplatonic philo- sophers Plotinus and Porphyry, whose influence upon the intelligensia of the fourth century--Augustine and Jerome not excluded--was widespread.l7 But Stoicism, though it had declined in the later Empire, was still instrumental in giving philosophical justification through its Virtue teaching to another reli- gious development which was strictly politically motivated: the infamous Caesar cult. As most Romans ceased to believe, except superficially, in the anthropomorphic Olympian deities--and they were beginning to disbelieve in them even 68 before the coming of Christ, as the spread of Euhemerism and Epicureanism might suggest--there was little else for them to believe in. This fact is crucial in explaining the rapid progress that the Eastern cults of Isis, Mithras and the Great Mother of Phrygia made in the later Empire. To most Romans, naturally, Christianity was simply another one of these Eastern cults. The Roman emperors, above all Augustus, recognized the danger of this decline in faith for the political stability of the Empire, especially in the West. And so, imitating Augustus' religious conser- vatism, later Roman emperors were hesitant to allow these wild, orgiastic cults entrance into Italy. Their efforts, however, were largely futile. But along with the spread of these Eastern cults, which, after all, were by Imperial times firmly established in the Eastern Empire, there arose another cult which was to have special significance in prolonging the Roman state religion--the worship of the Emperor himself. Many of the Emperors, including even Augustus, were not eager to be worshipped, but they still took advantage of the support that such worship lent to their absolutist political ideology; and to worship the Emperor was to worship his divine attributes, that is, his Virtues. Hence, to the already long list of deified Virtues handed down from antiquity, many more, conceived of as divine attributes of the Emperors, such as Clementia, Hilaritas, Liberalitas and Disciplina, were added. Ridi- culous though it might seem to modern sensibility, Caesar 69 worship was yet a viable religious force for over three hundred years; and it has been shown, too, that far from being an unforeseen and unprecedented development, Caesar worship hearkened back to the absolutist rule instituted by Alexander the Great.18 Thus, after having arrived at a better appreciation of the special place which Virtue worship occupied in the Roman state religion in all stages of Roman history, one cannot dismiss the Virtues of the Psychomachia as mere rhetorical figures of speech. To do so would deprive the poem of much of its topicality and historical significance. That the Virtues of the poem were deified, not personified, was recognized, though faintly and incredulously, even by C. S. Lewis; Lavarenne, however, in the preface to his recent edition of the Psychomachia, acknowledged this fact more readily. Yet since much of the critical literature about the poem has been written by Renaissance scholars, there has been a predisposition to accuse Prudentius of artificiality, to label the Virtues as "frigid abstractions," and to view the historical significance of the poem as residing only in its having given rise to what became a great literary genre: the so-called "medieval allegory" of Alain de l'ile, Jean de Meung and others. This predisposition has been furthered, doubtless, by the difficulty which even classical scholars have had in distinguishing between deified and . . . . . 1 personified Virtues 1n the works of later Latin writers. 9 70 Such a distinction, of course, depends mainly upon the religious sensibility of the individual writer and often it is difficult, if not impossible, to determine clearly the nature of the religious beliefs of these later writers. They lived, of course, in an age of transition when men's convictions vacillated; many of them were not simply heathen or Christian, but were heathen at one time, Christian at another. Prudentius, of course, seems in this respect exceptional since he was, to judge from his work, unswerv— ingly Christian; but he was educated, nevertheless, in the Roman schools and, as a Roman magistrate, was thoroughly familiar with heathen religious practices and lore and may even have been a pagan in early life. In many respects, his life--or what little is known of it--is similar to those of the other great contemporary Christianized Romans Ambrose and Augustine. Like them, Prudentius sought to make heathen Romans, especially men of letters, see the folly of their religious beliefs. And though he might personally have despised these beliefs, he hit upon what was probably the best method for converting these recalcitrant, conser— vative Romans to Christianity: to make certain of their deities appear Christian; thus, by becoming Christians, these Romans would not be departing radically from native traditions. But if, then, the Virtues of the Psychomachia have special significance with regard to religious history and, more specifically, to the progress of the Christian church in the Roman world, what about the Vices? NOTES TO CHAPTER IV 1A. Dressel, in his edition of Prudentius' works, Prolegomena, pp. XII-XIII. 2J. A. Ambrosch, "Uber die Religionsbucher der Romer," Zeitschrift fuer Philosophie und katholische Theo- logie, N. F., ii (1843); PP. 221-54; iV, pp. 26-55. 3H. J. Rose, "Numen Inest: 'Animism' in Greek and Roman Religion," Harvard Theological Review, XXVII, 4 (Oct., 1935), pp. 237-57; see also A. Grenier, "Numen," Latomus, yi (1947). pp. 297-308. 4Lewis, pp. 48-56; M. Lavarenne, ed., Prudence, Psychomachie (Paris, 1933), pp. 47-49; Beatrice, pp. 27-29. 5See Wissowa, Religion und Kultus der Romer, 2nd ed. (Halle, 1912; rpt. MuniEh: Beck, 1971), p. 409, n. 3; i23- saurus Linggae Latinae (Leipzig: Teubner, 1976), iX, 2, fasc. 5, col. 672. 6See Leisegang, R.E., XIII, cols. 1035-81, under "Logos"; on Ratio=Logos,—sEe H. Merguet, Lexicon 32 SEE phi1030phischen Schriften Cicero's (Jena, 1894; rpt. Hildescheim: Olms, 1961), iii, pp. 343-54; Corpus Glossa- riorum Latinorum, ed. G. Goetz (Leipzig, 1901; rpt. Amster- dam: Hakkert, 1965), Vii, p. 184. 7See J. Carter, "Epitheta Deorum," Roscher, Suppl. Bd.; H. Usener, Gotternamen, 3rd ed. (Frankfurt/Main: Schulte-Bulmke, 1948), pp. 3-8, 73-79, 216-42, 364-75; on Mens, see Preller, II, pp. 265-66; R. Peter, Roscher, ii, cols. 2798-2800; MaFBach, R.E., iV, l, cols. 936-37; Wissowa, pp. 313-15. 8Isidore, Etym., ed. W. Lindsay (Oxford, 1910), V. XXVI. 4; ii. ii. 17. 71 72 9Separate sections follow on Fides, Spes and Sobrietas where references to relevant scholarly literature are made; on Pudicitia, see Preller, II, pp. 264-65; G. Radke in R. E. XXIII, 2, cols. 1942- 45; R. Peter, Roscher, III, cols. 3273- 77; Wissowa, pp. 333- 34, 257; on Pat1entia, J. Beaujeu, La Religion romaine a i' apogee de 1' em ire (Paris, 1955TT I, . 424, Wissowa, p. 336; on Pax, Preller, ii, pp. 250- 52; —Wissowa, Roscher, III, cols. 1719- -21, Religion, p. 334; C. Koch, R.E., XVIII, 2, cols. 2430-36; on Concordia, Preller, II, pp. 260-62; R. Peter, Roscher, I, cols. 914-22; Aust, RTE., iV, cols. 831-35; Wissowa, Religion, pp. 328-29. _ 10See Preller, i, pp. 250-53; Otto, R.E., Vi, cols. 2281-86; Wissowa, Roscher, i, cols. 1481-83, Religion, pp. 133-34; also the articles by P. Boyancé, "Fides et 1e serment," pp. 91-103, "Fides romana et la vie inter- nationale," pp. 105- 19, "La Main de Fides," pp. 121-33, "Les Romains, peuole de la Fides," pp. 135- 52, all reprinted in Etudes sur la religion romaine (Rome, 1972); P. Grimal, "Fides et 1e secret, Revue de 1' histoire des religions, CLXXXV (1974), pp. 141- 55; M. _Adr1an1, "Traditio romana e culto della Fides," Studi romani, IV (1956), pp. 381- 89; on the college of Fetials, see Wissowa, Religion, pp. 550- 54; J. Marquardt, Das Sacralwesen, vol. III of his Romische Staatsverwaltung, 2nd ed. (Leipzig, 1885; rpt. New York: Arno, 1975), pp. 415-27. 11See Preller, II, pp. 253- 54; Wissowa, Roscher, IV, cols. 1295-97, Religion, pp. 329- 31; K. Latte, R. E., 2nd— Reihe, III, 1. cols. 1634- 36. len Sobrietas=Sophrosyne, see Otto, Roscher, IV, col. 1120; on Sophrosyne, Hofer, Roscher, IV, cols. l2I4-15. 13On Ops, see Wissowa, Religion, pp. 203-04; on Salus, Wissowa, Religion, pp. 131-33; Preller, ii, pp. 235- 37. 14See The Religious Experience (London: Macmillan, 1911), p. 164; and J. Carter, The Religion of Numa (London: Macmillan, 1906); M. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Reli ion, 2nd ed. (Munich: Beck, 1955), i, pp. 43- 44, 47- 50 58-60, 216-22. 15With regard to Usener's theory, one should consider the objections made to it by Fowler, pp. 161-63, and by Wissowa in Gesammelte Abhandlungen (Munich: Beck, 1904), pp. 304-26; still cf. Fides and Dius Fidius, as in Wissowa, Religion, pp. 129-31. 73 16On the Hesiodic diamons, see A. Lesky, Geschichte der griechischen Literatur, 2nd ed. (Bern: Francke, 1957); pp. 110-26; and, more importantly, K. Reinhardt, "Personifi- kation und Allegorie," in Verméchtnis der Antike (Gettingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1960), pp. 7-40, an extremely insightful essay first brought to my attention by Lesky, p. 117, n. 2; on Heisod's Theogony in general, see W. Schmid and O. Stalin, Geschichte der griechishen Literatur, 6th ed. (1929; rpt. Munich: Beck, 1959), i, 1, pp. 257- 67; Rzach, R. E., VIII, cols. 1187- 1201 and H. Schwabl, R. E., Suppl. XII, cols. 434- 61. 17On the Stoic virtue teaching, see Zeller, iii, 1, pp. 235-46; K. Reinhardt, "Poseidonios, " R E . XXII cols. 754- 56; on the influence of Stoicism on Neoplatonism in the fourth century, see P. Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their Greek Sources, tr. H. Wedeck (Cambridge, Mass.: Har- vard, 1969); PP. 26-47, 58-89, 131-48, 165-96; Wissowa, ES Macrobii Saturnaliorum Fontibgs, Diss. Vratislav 1880 (Vratislav, 1880), pp. 35-44; Zeller on Porphyry and Iamblichus, iii, 2, pp. 631-724; R. Beutler, R.E., XXII, 1, cols. 275-313; W. Kroll, E.E., ii, cols. 645-517 18On the Roman Caesar cult, see Marquardt, pp. 463- 75; Wissowa, Religion, pp. 564-66; Preller, II, pp. 425-53; 0. Weinrach, "Antikes Gottmenschentum," in Rgmischer Kaiser- kult (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1978), pp. _55- 81; on the connection between the Caesar cult and Alexander's monarchy, see E. Meyer, "Alexander der Grosse und die absolute Monarchie," Kaiserkult, pp. 203-17. 19See H. Axtell, The Deification 9i Abstract Ideas id Roman Literature and Inscriptions Diss. Chicago 1907 (Chicago, 1907), esp. pp. 67-85, who notes on pp. 83-84 that the worship of the Virtues persisted longer than that of the anthropomorphic gods. CHAPTER V THE DEMONIC VICES sed nec virtutes hominum deus aut animarum spirituum vagae tenui sub imagine formae. (Contra Orationem Symmachi, I, 445-46) Just as the conception of the Virtues as divine powers or forces did not originate with Prudentius, but rather was based on certain pagan theological doctrines, that of an internalized opposition between Vices and Virtues in human beings was also well established by his time. The most famous instance of the representation of this kind of inner struggle in classical Latin literature occurs in the third and fourth books of Cicero's Tusculan Disputations. But Cicero referred to this theme in his Qe_Natura Deorum as well, where he made a point of insisting that, unlike the Virtues, the Vices should not be worshipped, even though they were superhuman forces, because there was impropriety in such worship. Hence, the Vices were not, in general, the objects of cult worship in heathen Roman religion; the Romans, in other words, seemed to abide by Cicero's dictum that, though one might hold Vices in awe as superhuman forces which could "possess" humans so to speak, one should 74 75 not exalt these Vices by placing them on a level with the Virtues, which opposed them in a perpetual struggle.1 That Prudentius was acquainted with these Ciceronian texts is, of course, likely because of the important status which Cicero held in the rhetorical and grammatical schools of the fourth century. But though Prudentius was apparently influenced by Cicero's doctrines, these Vices were for Pru- dentius what might best be termed nether spirits. In fact, throughout the Psychomachia, Prudentius takes pains to call attention to the spiritual nature of the Vices and to asso- ciate them both with the pagan underworld Tartarus and with the avenging deities the Furies or Eumenides.2 Probably the most noteworthy passages in the poem in this regard are the allusions to the retinue of Avaritia and to the expelled Cares: Cura, Famis, Metus, Anxietas, Periuria, Pallor, Corruptela, Dolus, Commenta, Insomnia, Sordes, Eumenides variae monstri comitatus aguntur. nec minus interea rabidorum more luporum Crimina persultant toto grassantia campo, matris Avaritiae nigro de lacte creata. si fratris galeam fulvis radiare ceraunis germanus vidit conmilito, non timet ensem exerere atque caput socio mucrone ferire, de consanguineo rapturus vertice gemmas. filius extinctum belli sub sorte cadaver aspexit si forte patris, fulgentia bullis cingula et exuvias gaudet rapuisse cruentas: cognatam Civilis agit Discordia praedam, nec parcit propriis Amor insatiatus Habendi pigneribus spoliatque suos Famis impia natos. (464-79) * * * his dictis curae emotae, Metus et Labor et Vis et Scelus et placitae fidei Fraus infitiatrix depulsae vertere solum. (629-31) 76 But if Prudentius' conception of the Vices as anta- gonists of the Virtues was shaped by certain Ciceronian philosophical texts, his conception of them as nether powers, similarly, derives from yet another literary text which also held a dominant position in the Roman schools of the fourth century: Vergil's Aeneid. Prudentius scholars have, in fact, shown how full Prudentius' poetry is of Vergilian echoes.3 The particular passage in the Aeneid which appears to have influenced his conception of the Vices occurs in the sixth book, when Aeneas and the Sybil descend to the entrance of Tartarus: Vestibulum ante ipsum primisque in faucibus Orci Luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae, pallentesque habitant Morbi, tristisque Senectus, et Metus, et malesuada Fames, ac turpis Egestas, terribiles visu formae, Letumgue Labosque, tum consanguineus Leti Sopor, et mala mentis Gaudia, mortiferumque adverso in limine Bellum, ferreique Bumenidum thalami, et Discordia demens, vipereum crinem vittis innexa cruentis. In medio ramos annosaque bracchia pandit ulmus opaca, ingens, quam sedem Somnia vulgo vana tenere ferunt, foliisque sub omnibus haerent, multaque praeterea variarum monstra ferarum, Centauri in foribus stabulant, Scyllaeque biformes, et centumgeminus Briareus, ac belua Lernae horrendum stridens, flammisque armata Chimaera, Gorgones, Harpyiaeque, et forma tricorporis umbrae. (273-89) Unfortunately, the exact source of this Vergilian passage has not, so far as I know, been determined; but Bailey reports a suggestion that it was based on some Greek nekyia, the rite of the calling up of the spirits of the dead.4 Greek deities similar to these shades in Vergil's underworld occur in the Homeric poems and in Hesiod's Theogony. The Hesiodic deities were closely associated with Night and 77 Earth.5 And even if Vergil's exact source is not known, it is virtually certain that his vague conception of these shades, which modern scholars have been all too prone to term personified abstractions owes much to certain Stoic ethical doctrines; these same doctrines, furthermore, serve as the basis for the greater share of Cicero's discussion of the Vices in the third and fourth books of the Tusculan Disputations.6 The tendency to group tOgether all the Virtues and Vices as personified abstractions is, as well, a failure to distinguish between two entirely different mythic conceptions. Stoicism was, above all, an ethical philosophy, and the Stoics devoted themselves wholeheartedly to defining exactly what they meant by Virtue. They also defined what Virtue was not, specifying which human qualities opposed Virtue; these qualities Cicero termed vitia or affectiones. Our word affection, especially in Middle and early Modern English, still faintly reflects the technical meaning of Latin affectio a term which, in the philosophical works of Cicero, simply translated Greek pathos. It is even more instructive to discover the teachings of the older Stoics regarding pathE. They thought of path; in physiological terms as literally inner movements of the body. The characteristic states produced by such movements were not thought of, however, as separate and distinct results of them. The affections Ira and Libido for example, to cite Vices in the Psychomachia which were also termed affections 78 by the Stoics, were both inner Spiritual movements and the resulting states induced by these movements.7 In modern psychology, by contrast, ire would be considered simply an intense emotional condition, while libido, after the Freudian fashion, would be identified with sexual instinct. It is, therefore, necessary to stress the physical nature of the affects as defined by the Stoics: they used the terminology of medicine when discussing and describing these affects.8 The affects were for them "perturbationes," physical and spiritual states of imbalance and disorder caused by the false opinions of an erring judgement, not emotions so much as symptoms of a diseased intellect. The Stoics were in this respect merely rationalizing, trying to explain the Operation of certain superhuman forces observable in man. These forces were already, in the older mythological con- ception, divine; the Stoics merely attempted to make the operation of these forces intelligible. Chrysippus even went so far as to extend the list of EEEEE and attempted to classify them by way of distinguishing them from one another. And though Stoicism had undeniably declined as a living school of philosophy in the fourth century, still its doctrines on the Vices and Virtues were an integral part of the Ciceronian and Vergilian writings which served as the foundation of the curriculum of the grammatical- rhetorical schools of the Western Empire in which Romans, pagan or Christian, were educated. It is even more 79 significant that these doctrines were later seized upon by the Neoplatonists Plotinus, Porphyry and Iamblichus. Because the NeOplatonists wrote in Greek, it has been too readily assumed, often, that they must have exercised little influence on the intellectual history of the later Western Empire. Yet East and west were not sharply divided on political and social issues until after Theodosius. Nor did Greek studies in the West steadily decline until after his time. Hence, he was rightly viewed by the men of later antiquity as the last great emperor capable of uniting the East and West. It is scarcely surprising, then, that the writings of many of the intellectual leaders of the East, when not studied in the original Greek texts, soon became available in Latin translations. The Christian writer Origen is a case in point.9 There is, in fact, reason to believe that the works of Plotinus and those of his most brilliant student and fanatical admirer Porphyry, both of whom resided at Rome for long periods, were widely read in 10 It is, however, more to the Latin translation as well. present purpose to note that the Neoplatonists themselves, in seizing upon the Stoic teachings on the affects, con- siderably modified them: these teachings became an important part of their so-called demonology. Perhaps the most memo- rable literary expression of the Vices as demons or evil spirits occurs, similarly, in the work of the late Roman court poet Claudian, a man of Egyptian extraction like Plotinus himself. 80 This passage occurs in the diatribe in Rufinum, I. Here Claudian views the eternal ruin of Rufinus as proof that the gods care about human affairs and are willing to intervene in them in the interests of morality. Claudian thus wages a polemic against the Epicurean notion that the gods were aloof and uncaring, content to let the world proceed as it would. The fall of Rufinus, then, is poetic justice; and, in fact, the theological purport of the passage is striking: sed cum res hominum tanta caligine volvi adspicerem laetosque diu florere nocentes vexarique pios, rursus labefacta cadebat relligio causaeque viam non sponte sequebar alterius, vacuo quae currere semina motu adfirmat magnumque novas per inane figuras fortuna non arte regi, quae numina sensu ambiguo vel nulla putat vel nescia nostri. abstulit hunc tandem Rufini poena tumultum absolvitque deos. iam non ad culmina rerum iniustos crevisse queror; tolluntur in altum, ut lapsu graviore ruant. vos pandite vati, Pierides, quo tanta lues eruperit ortu. Invidiae quondam stimulis incanduit atrox Allecto, placidas late cum cerneret urbes. protinus infernas ad limina taetra sorores concilium deforme vocat. glomerantur in unum innumerae pestes Erebi, quascumque sinistro Nox genuit fetu: nutrix Discordia belli, imperiosa Fames, leto vicina Senectus impatiensque sui Morbus Livorque secundis anxius et scisso maerens velamine Luctus et Timor et caeco praeceps Audacia vultu et Luxus populator opum, quem semper adhaerens infelix humili gressu comitatur Egestas, foedaque Avaritiae complexae pectora matris insomnes longo veniunt examine Curae. complentur vario ferrata sedilia coetu torvaque collectis stipatur curia monstris. (12-40) Both Ebert and Hofer early saw the connection between this passage and the Vices of the Psychomachia.11 Given Claudian's status as a poet laureate, it is likely 81 that Prudentius was familiar with this poem; with an audience so thoroughly educated in literary and rhetorical studies Claudian would have readily found favor. But whether or not Prudentius had read or heard this passage doesn't really matter. For Claudian's questioning the nature of divine justice simply reflects what was a pressing theological concern in the fourth century. Above all, it is significant that the superhuman, hellish beings here named are conceived of as Furies or nether spirits even though in modern criticism they would normally instead be termed per- sonified abstractions. Lues (24), pestes (29) and monstris (40), used here to refer to these beings collectively, are key words since they recall the same or similar words used in the Psychomachia to refer to the Vices.12 But the context in which this passage occurs is yet more signifi- cant: Claudian is trying both to account for the evil caused by Rufinus in particular and for the existence of evil in the world in general. The theological point of this pas— sage is, then, unmistakable; and though Ebert and Hofer per- formed a great service in bringing the passage to the atten- tion of Prudentius scholars, their inquiries stopped short of determining which sources Claudian himself, in turn, was likely to have drawn upon here. However, a close examina- tion of some of the principal writings of the contemporary pagan philosophers Porphyry and Iamblichus reveals to what a large extent Claudian must have been influenced in 82 this passage by certain prominent Neoplatonist theological doctrines. Even more than the Stoics before them, the Neopla- tonists Porphyry and Iamblichus had a penchant for systema- tization in propounding their theological doqmas. Hence, it was scarcely surprising that they adopted certain tenets of the Stoic Virtue teaching--appropriating these tenets, how- ever, to suit their own ends.13 But, to be more specific, they were careful to define the various spheres of power allotted to each of the different kinds of the many gods worshipped in classical heathendom. To a large extent, of course, their thinking was unoriginal: they were content to attempt to revise certain theological notions which were thoroughly traditional. It should be remembered as well that heathen theology had, to a large extent, always striven to be systematic--Hesiod had distinguished between gods, daimons and heroes and the elaborate organization of the Roman official state priesthood was so formalistic that it was scarcely likely to excite much genuine religious fervor. Nonetheless, the Neoplatonists were forced to confront a theological problem which had hardly troubled men in pre- Christian times, a problem which had first become urgent for the Gnostic Christian theologians of the second and third centuries: how to account for the existence of evil in a world presumably governed by gods who were deemed benefi- cent. Certainly, no pagan philosopher was more ingenious in prOposing a tentative solution to this problem than 83 Plotinus, who was quick to point out how unsatisfactorily the Stoics had dealt with it.14 But, in the Neoplatonic school, it was Porphyry who first developed in detail that body of theological doctrines which has come to be known in scholarly literature as the demonology or pneumatology of 15 later antiquity. Iamblichus' d2 mysteriis, however, is an even more systematic treatment of the doctrines on the demons or nether spirits (often conceived of as the infernal counterparts of the ethereal angels) which circulated so widely in the fourth century.16 One indication of the importance of this branch of theology to the intelligensia of the fourth century is that it was discussed not only by many leading contemporary Christians—-such as Origen, Ter- tullian, Clement, Jerome, and Augustine--but had even been prominent in Gnosticism before this time; it became closely associated too, with Manichaeism.17 But considering how important demonology was to the many theologians, both pagan and Christian, of late antiquity, it is necessary to attempt to determine what sources must have influenced them in their development of it. First of all, it is noteworthy that demonology ema— nated from the Eastern world, more specifically, from Egypt. It had also been touched upon by both Philo and Plutarch; and it is by now evident that there is a connection between demonology and Stoic (especially middle Stoic) dogmas on the "affections" or "passions."18 Borrowing Ciceronian termi- nology, Prudentius then simply termed these demons or nether 84 spirits Vices. And, of course, that Prudentius was vir- tually steeped in the lore of both traditional Roman reli- gion and the syncretistic Roman heathen religion of the fourth century, in which, in the private sector, the Eastern cults of the Phygian Cybele, the Egyptian Isis and the Persian Mithras became so prominent, is unquestionable. Gibbon recognized this fact. But modern Prudentius scholars, always laying strong emphasis on Prudentius' Christianity-- which, after all, he probably acquired relatively late in life-—have been all too prone to forget it. But there is mention of Roman pagan religion lore in all of Prudentius poems! Thanks to the scholarly efforts of above all Edward Meyer and Franz Cumont, however, it is now possible to con- clude that demonology, emanating from Egypt and the Near East, originated in Persian religion, in, that is, Zoroastrianism and Mithraism.19 It has already been stated how urgent the need was for the theologians of later antiquity to explain why evil could abound in a world that was thought to be governed by benevolent and beneficent deities. Yet there was little to be gleaned from earlier Graeco-Roman theology which might offer a satisfactory explanation of this problem. But there was a ready-made explanation in Zoroastrianism and the later modification of it, Mithraism; both of these religious systems posited a dualism between divine forces of good and evil, symbolized by the opposition between light and darkness. A reminiscence of this idea, in fact, 85 is found in the Psychomachia, 908: "spiritibus pugnant variis lux atque tenebrae."20 But this is not the least bit unusual since the Mithraic dualism entered into the writings of not only the Neoplatonists, but also those of the Fathers; it is frequently mentioned too, in Origen's de principiis and in some of his other writings. According to this conception, the forces of evil or demons were eter- nally in conflict with the forces of good. In Judeo- Christian tradition these demons became identified with Satan and his troop of fallen angels; and demonology figured largely in many of the Gnostic systems. Mithraism spread all over the Empire from the times of Pompey onward and was particularly popular with the Roman soldiers. The many depictions of Mithras on funeral monuments dating from the fourth century testify to the truth of the famous assertion made by Renan that (since, of any of the heathen cults of later antiquity, it was nearly as popular as, if not more pOpular, than Christianity) Mithraism very nearly became the religion of the Western world.21 Its ascetic religious practices were remarkably similar to those of Christianity and hence, the church came to view Mithraism as a most dangerous foe.22 Cumont and Bousset have demonstrated well enough how the demons mentioned so often by fourth-century writers are to be identified with the evil forces of Mithraism. But an even surer sign of the foreign origin of this conception of evil forces as demons is that, although these forces are discussed by so many of the 86 writers of later antiquity, these writers used slightly different terms to refer to them.23 And just as the Vices became identified with the evil forces opposing Mithras, so too the Roman Virtues tended to lose their independent existence as deities in Mithraism to become viewed merely as different attributes of the god. Often associated closely with those of Apollo and Sol Invictus, the Mithras cult well illustrates the syncretism of later Roman heathen religion; it clearly figured prominently in the worship of the sena- torial antiquarian circle portrayed in Macrobius' Saturnalia. It remains now to see how far these facts about the histori- cal background of Prudentius' Vices go towards explaining the curious title of the poem.24 Considering that Prudentius' knowledge of Greek was, to judge from his works, superficial and that the Vices were to him evil forces or spirits, the Psychomachia, then, is simply the battle of the psychai or spirits. Although the study of Greek in the West had not by his time wholly dis- appeared, it was clearly on the wane.25 More importantly, an examination of the Greek words used in his poetry reveals that Prudentius was in fact familiar with a certain amount of Greek terminology but only with such as was either in wide circulation in church circles, or was to be found both in the handbooks and compendia studied in the Roman rhe- torical-grammatical schools of the time and in the works 26 of classic Roman writers. Yet though Prudentius' learning was not great and his art will always be overshadowed by 87 that of the Golden and even Silver Age poets, his impor- tance for the understanding of the religious history of the late fourth century is unquestionable. He was for Gibbon an important historical source; but his historical impor— tance can only be truly appreciated from a wider perspec- tive, that is, from the perspective of the religious his- tory of paganism in the late fourth and early fifth centuries. NOTES TO CHAPTER V 1See the third and fourth books of the Tusc., esp. IV. 15 and M. Pohlenz, "Das dritte und vierte Bucfi der Tusculanen," Hermes, XLI (1906), pp. 321-55; N. D., 61, where Cicero complains of the deification of Cupido and Voluptas. And, of course, Pavor and Pallor are examples of Vices which were worshipped (they were connected with Mars). For the cult of Pavor and Pallor, see Preller, II, p. 248; Wissowa, Reli ion, p. 149; cf. also the Homeric—— Deimos and Phobos (I1., IV. 44; XI. 37; XIII. 299; XIV. 119), the attendants—of ares. __ _—— 2Cf. the various words and expressions used to refer to and describe Vices collectively: "furies" (10, 46, 96, 158), "pests" (91, 259, 899), "diseases" (8), "spirits" (908), "faults" (5, 304, 683, 817), "monsters" (20), "harms" (897), "filth" (907); singly: Libido (87, 91), Ira (113, 135), Superbia (178, 194, 286), Luxuria (328-30, 351), Avaritia (508, 558, 565, 570). Even the death of Cultura, by strangulation, is meaningful in this connection (33-35). See also 0. Hofer, 23 Prudentii pgetae Psychomachia, Diss. Marburg, 1895, pp. 13-19; C. Gnilka, ”Das Vergeltungs- prinzip," in Studien zur Psychomachie des Prudentius (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1963). PP. 5I381. 7That Discordia was regularly considered a Fury as well is widely attested: e. g., Vergil, A32., 21. 280. 3Cf. Beatrice, p. 32; A. Salvatore, Studi pruden- ziani (Naples, 1958), PP. 79-115; M. Smith, Prudentius1 Psychomachia (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1976), pp. 234-300. 4Made by H. E. Butler in The Sixth Book of the Aeneid (Oxford: Blackwell, 1920); see C. Bailey, Reli ion i2_Ver i1 (Oxford, 1935; rpt. New York: Barnes and Nogle, 196 , p. 268. 5The Homeric Deimos and Phobos have already been mentioned in n. 1; see also Hesiod's Th., esp. the progeny of Earth (126-53; 185) and of Night (211-32). 88 89 6On Stoic "Affectenlehre" in Vergil's Aeneid, see R. Heinze, Vergils epische Technik (Leipzig: Teubner, 1903), pp. 278-84; E. Norden, P. Vergilius Maro Aeneis Buch VI, 6th ed. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche BuchgesellschafET 1976), p. 214. On Cicero's use of "Affectenlehre," see n. 1 above. 7For general discussions on Stoic "Affectenlehre" or teaching on the "affects," often otherwise termed "pathE" (=L. passiones) or "diseases" (Gr. nosoi, L. morbi or 1ues), see Pohlenz in Hermes and Die Stoa, 5th ed. (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, T878), , pp. 141-53; Zeller, III, 1, pp. 224-35; Reinhardt, "Poseidonios," cols. 733—45. PEE- dentius echoes Stoic terminology, first of all, in his mere choice of Vices but, more specifically, at the beginning and concluding sections of the poem (1-20; 888-916; note esp. "turbatis sensibus intus," 7; "viribus infestis," 20; "luc- tantisque animae . . . casus . . . ancipites nebulosa in pectore sensus," 892-93; "fervent bella horrida, fervent ossibus inclusa," 902-03). 8See Galen, De Placitis Hippocratis gt Platonis, ed. I. Mueller (Leipzig, 1874; rpt. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1975), esp. Books III, IV, V; Pohlenz, Die Stoa, pp. 143-47. 9Many of Origen's works were translated into Latin by both Turranius Rufinus and St. Jerome; on Rufinus, see Lietzmann, R.E., 2nd Reihe, I, cols. 1193—96; on Jerome's translations 3f Origen's works, Courcelle, pp. 100—01. loSee Wissowa, De Macrobii, p. 41; Courcelle, pp. 173- 82, Index, p. 466, under "Victorinus"; M. Schanz, Geschichte der romischen Literatur, 2nd ed. (Munich: Beck, 1914), IV, 1, pp. 149-61; Wessner, R.E., XIV, 2, cols. 1839-487— —'_ '_—— lle. H6fer, p. 13; A. Ebert, Allgemeine Geschichte der Literatur des Mittelalters im Abendlande,82nd ed. (Leipzig: Vogel, 1889), I, p. 288. 12See n. 2 above. 13See Pohlenz, Die Stoa, pp. 396-97. 14Ibid., pp. 392-96. 90 15See Beatrice, pp. 36-38; Eisele, "Zur Damonology Plutarchs von Charonea," Archiv ffir Geschichte der Philo- sophie, XVII (1903), pp. 28-51; W. Bousset, "Eur DamonOIogy der spéteren Antike," Archiv ffir Religionswissenschaft, XVIII (1915), pp. 134-72; Waser, R.E., IV, cols. 2010-12; Andres, R.E., Suppl. III, cols. 267-322; v. Sybel, Roscher, I, cols. 938-39; R. Haifize, Xenokrates (Leipzig: Teubner, 1892), pp. 78-123. 16This work has been traditionally assigned to Iamblichus, a notion against which Zeller (III, 2, pp. 715 ff.) has argued vigorously. The term demon—here must be carefully distinguished from the term daimon which has been introduced in Chapter IV even though the former derives from the latter: a "daimon" was in early Greek theology a minor divinity whose sphere of power was midway between those of the great gods (the Olympian deities or theoi) and the heroes; in later Christian writers, however (e.g., Augustine's City of God), a "daimon" came to be considered an infernal powerT—tfiat is, a "demon." One should take note also of the traces of "angelology" in Psych., 305-09, when Spes flies toward heaven. l7On Gnosticism and demonology, see Bousset, "Gnosis," R.E., VII, cols. 1507-10; E. F. Scott, "Gnosti- cism," HasEifig's—Eficyclopedia gI Religion and Ethics (Edinburgh/New York: Scribner's, 1917), VI, p. 235; on Manichaeism and demonology, Bevan, "Manichaeism," Hasting's VIII, pp. 397-99; on demonology and Priscillianism, a leading heresy in Spain in Prudentius' time, Vollmann, R.E., Suppl. IIV, cols. 540-41. 18On Plutarch's demonology, see Eisele; on Philo's, Zeller, III, 2, pp. 395-97. 19On Gibbon's use of Prudentius as an authority on Roman religion, see his Chapter XXVIII and Chapter XXII, n. 85; on Mithraism, see Wfist, R.E., XV, cols. 2131-55; H. S. Jones, Hasting's, VIII, pp. 752339; Cumont in Roscher, II, cols. 3028-71; and Les Religions orientales dans I3 —3 anisme romain, 4th ed? (Paris: Geuthner, 1929), pp. 125- E9; on Zoroastrianism and Mithraism, E. Meyer, Geschichte des Altertums, ed. by H. Stier (Stuttgart, 1937-39; rpt. Darmstadt: WiSsenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1975), III, pp. 97-127; fl, 1, pp. 114-20. 91 20Note also the references to caves in the Ps ch., as in 6, "nostri de pectoris antro," 774, "inpacati suE pectoris . . . antro," 906, "nigrantis carcere cordis": caves figured prominently in Mithraism; see Cumont, Les Religions, p. 140; pp. 274-75, n. 23; and in Roscher, cols. 3060-63. 21See S. Dill, Roman Society In the Last Century Q: the Western Empire, 2nd ed. (1899; rpt. New York: Meridian, 1958), p. 83. 22Note even Prudentius' description of the bizarre initiation rite of Mithraism, the taurobolium, borrowed from the Phrygian Great Mother cult, in Peri., 1011 ff. 23Cf., for example, Origen's "spiritus maligni et daemonia inmunda" in De Principiis, ed. H. Gorgemanns and H. Karpp (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1976), III. 2. l and "malignis virtutibus," III. 2. 3 with Porphyry's "kakoergoi daimones" in De Abstinentia in quscula Selecta, 2nd ed. by A. Nauck (Leipzig: Teubner, 1886), II. 40 and with the "daimones poneroi" of the De Mysteriis, ed. G. Parthey (Berlin, 1875; rpt. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1965), III. 31. 24See App. I. 25See Courcelle, pp. 410-21, esp. 411, n. 1. 26For a thoroughgoing study of the Greek words in Prudentius' poetry, one should consult R. J. Deferrari and J. M. Campbell, Concordance g: Prudentius (Cambridge, Mass., 1932). Words probably gleaned out of other Latin works include, for example, "syrmate," 362; "scandala," 452; and "parabside," 532. CHAPTER VI AN OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF ROMAN RELIGION IN THE LATE FOURTH AND EARLY FIFTH CENTURIES Paganism in later antiquity met with mixed fortunes. As it had periodically persecuted Christianity in the third century and fiercely late in Diocletian's reign in the early fourth century, it itself became persecuted, in turn, in the later fourth century. But native religious traditions were adhered to stubbornly and superstitiously by many educated upper-class Romans. Yet paganism declined steadily in the fourth century. And by Augustine's time, it was difficult for anyone, except scattered enclaves of conservatives who considered the ancient religious practices sacred and indissolubly bound up with the good fortunes of the Roman Empire, to believe seriously in the old gods. Truly, Christianity had triumphed over heathendom.l The dominant historical figure of the era was, of course, Constantine. His long reign was certainly instru- mental in promoting the interests of the church and in unifying church and state. Yet his own personal religious beliefs have been sometimes called into question: there is 92 93 some evidence that they may have been semi-pagan and it has even been claimed that his Christian beliefs were merely superficial and politically motivated.2 Admittedly, Con- stantine's personal beliefs verged toward heathendom in minor details, and he was a spokesman for toleration in religious matters. Yet he was clearly Christian and one of the basic aims of his religious policy was to make Christianity, by degrees, the dominant state religion. His general tolerance was probably due to his realistic appraisal of the importance of the pagans in the educational and administrative institutions of the state. At any rate, it was not until later in the fourth century that the government began to persecute pagans, under Constans and Constantius. In their reigns, decrees were issued, though prematurely, which suppressed pagan sacrifices. Soon pagan temples came to be destroyed on a large scale. But though paganism steadily declined after Con- stantine, Julian the Apostate's infamous religious policy, an ill-fated attempt to restore the heathen cult practises, is the most noteworthy instance of pagan reaction to the anti-paganism of Constantine and his immediate successors. Bidez and Gibbon have shown how much the Apostate's education was influenced by certain pagan rhetors (the most distinguished of whom was Libanius) and Neoplatonist sophists.3 In these circles, anti-Christian tracts were written and Porphyry's Adversus Christianos was often read and esteemed; thus the young, impressionable Julian came 94 to share in these reactionary, anti-Christian attitudes and he must have even read some of this pagan polemical literature. At any rate, his project to revive widespread pagan worship involved, to a certain extent, the curtailment of many of the prerogatives which had been established for the church, and even the persecution of it on a minor scale. Julian's most blatant anti-Christian measure was his law prohibiting Christians from teaching in the grammar schools. His reasoning for this measure was simply that teachers of the classical literature should believe in the gods who were celebrated in it--and since Christians did not and could not believe in even the existence of these gods, there was impropriety in their teaching the national literature. That Julian persecuted Christians is undeniable; however, the extent of his persecutions was exaggerated, probably, by his Christian adversaries.4 Nevertheless, his zealous attempt to revive pagan cult worship was destined to fail because his theology centered on Eastern deities to such a large extent that it was itself untraditional. But his reign was so short that he did not live to see his cherished project founder. And while that project met with contempt and ridi- cule in Christian circles, it was viewed with utter indif- ference by most of his subjects; nor are these facts sur- prising, considering that the theological foundation for the peculiar state religion which Julian instituted was largely the result of the over-subtle speculation of the 95 Near Eastern NeOplatonic school of Iamblichus. This school of philosophers was never popular nor did it strive to be; it scorned the beliefs of the common masses and withdrew to celebrate its own solemn mysteries and rites in private sanctuaries, in the confidence that it enjoyed imperial patronage. When this patronage ended with Julian's death, however, the retinue of Neoplatonists and pagan grammarians which had surrounded him was left unprotected and unnourished. And as a series of Christian emperors followed Julian, be- ginning with Jovian, the schools of pagan philosophy con- tinued to decline. The grammar schools, on the other hand, came to be attended more frequently by Christian students, just as Christian teachers came to join the school faculties in ever-increasing numbers. But though declining paganism enjoyed a brief period of toleration under the reigns of Julian's immediate suc- cessors Jovian, Valentinian I and Valens, the persecution of it became decidedly more vigorous under Gratian and Theodo- sius. It was in Gratian's reign that the most publicized episode in the history of the persecution of declining hea- then worship occurred: the removal of the altar of Victory from the senate house, a controversy in which Symmachus and St. Ambrose assumed leading parts (381). This altar had long stood in the senate house and it was the custom from the age of Augustus onward for senators to make a public offering on it before convening; a statue of the goddess Victory also stood near this altar and the statue itself 96 had a glorious history, having been transported to Rome from Tarentum by Caesar.5 In the Senate at the time of the altar's removal, there was probably a majority of pagans, despite St. Ambrose's claims to the contrary. The pagan senatorial party could only react by unsuccessfully peti- tioning the Emperor for its restoration. Yet this contro— versy was not new: Constantius had earlier demanded its removal, to the shock of the religious sentiments of the conservative Roman senators. The altar was thereupon restored to the senate house in Julian's reign (361-63). More significantly, this latter controversy over its removal signalled the growing influence which St. Ambrose had come to exercise on Gratian when that Emperor resided at Milan. Gratian was also the first Emperor to refuse the ancient title Pontifex Maximus, the highest priest in the pagan religion; and he dealt what was surely a most severe blow to declining paganism in ordering that pagan rites and priesthoods would no longer be maintained at state expense, a measure which then made it necessary for the wealthy Roman pagans to assume the great cost of maintaining these rites and priesthoods. Gratian's reign, largely due to the zeal of St. Ambrose, marked the opening of irreconciable opposition between Christianity, the foreign, parvenu religion, and paganism, supported by the staunchest conser- vators of the ancient and sacred traditions, the Roman senators. 97 The persecution of paganism soon became even more vigorous in the reign of Theodosius, Gratian's successor, however. But paganism at the turn of the century, when the Western Empire was ruled in name by Honorius, Theodosius' younger son, but ruled in fact by Stilicho, Honorius' pro- tector, enjoyed a period of toleration again. It was in this age, at the end of the fourth and the beginning of the fifth century, that Prudentius' poems attacking pagan idolatry, the two books Contra Orationem Symmachi and the Psychomachia were no doubt written; this was, of course, also the age of the court poet Claudian, whose poetry, so rich in the pagan mythological lore and the gaudy rhetorical colors of the Roman grammar schools, is itself a sure indication that paganism was once again officially tolerated, though unoffi- cially denounced, by the government of Honorius and Stilicho. But if paganism was tolerated during the course of the early fifth century, its ancient prerogatives were lost; and by Prudentius' and Augustine's time, there were few who could seriously believe in the pagan gods though there were still many who clung to the ancient rites. Christian polemicists no longer railed at the pagan gods; they instead mocked and ridiculed them. With this brief outline of events in mind, then, we can next examine declining paganism from another perspec- tive, the intellectual history of the later fourth century. This endeavor is complicated by the fact that this was an age of syncretism, when mobility within the Roman world 98 was better than it had ever been: the extensive road system aided, in large measure, the influx of Eastern, especially Persian, religious and political practices. Nor was this syncretism confined to paganism. The Christian church, when it first waged its battles against heresies in the fourth century, discovered that many of its sects preached doctrines shared by pagan popular belief and philOSOphy; one such sect was Priscillianism. Gnosticism too, it is true, was remarkably similar to paganism in many respects. Even Origen was proscribed for his pagan tendencies, especially his demonology.6 This is scarcely surprising, however; for the Eastern Empire, above all Egypt, was naturally more suscep- tible to the influx of Oriental religious doctrines than the West. But the Western church, though later than the Eastern, soon became influenced by Oriental theology; and no sector of the Empire was more instrumental in transmitting Oriental theological notions to the West than Africa. The cult of Isis, as it existed in the fourth century at least, is one prominent example of syncretism in Egyptian cult practice.7 The cult of Mithras, already referred to above in connection with Prudentius' Vices and the demonology of later anti- quity, is a second, though Mithraism was by no means con- fined to any one sector of the empire. The Romans them- selves had received this cult from Asia Minor where it came to incorporate into its system of worship the ghastly ini- tiation rite of the taurobolium, so shockingly described by Prudentius himself: the initiate, standing in a pit covered 99 by planks set apart in short intervals, was showered by the dripping blood of a sacrificial bull.8 This rite was ori- ginally not a part of Mithraism at all but instead of the cult of Cybele. Thus, the Roman religion, having assimi- lated several Eastern cults, was in this age not only itself a syncretism: the Eastern cults which had become so popular in the Roman world were syncretistic as well. Certainly, Mithraism as practiced by the Romans bore little resemblance to the orthodox Mithraism of the Persians. This merging together of so many religious teachings from so many sectors of the Roman world was perfectly in accord with the strong vacillating tendency of most Romans in matters of personal belief. After all, even the Christian church was still in the process of determining exactly what orthodoxy was and was not. Rooting out heresy, though a major task for the church, was scarcely less difficult, however, than warding off the assaults of another more persistent foe: Neopla- tonism. And two characteristics of the NeOplatonism of this epoch are, above all others, notable: its urgent spirituality--a spirituality which closely resembled Christian spirituality in many respects--and its uncom- promising hostility to Christianity. More importantly, Neoplatonism was even intended to be a viable alternative to Christian belief. Christian writers themselves soon came to admit that Plato had been a pre-Christian philo- SOpher and, thanks to Philo and other Hellenized Jews, the 100 notion that Plato had even borrowed many of his doctrines from Jewish wise men became current. The basis for Neo- platonist spirituality and other-worldliness was always the Enneads of Plotinus, who was reputed to be so transported or ecstatic in everyday living that he was neglectful of his writing. The genius of Porphyry his greatest disciple was necessary, therefore, to revise, clarify and publicize the master's divine work. Porphyry, aside from being a voluminous writer himself, was instrumental in propagating Plotinus' teaching; Courcelle, probably more than any scholar before him, has stressed that Porphyry was Plotinus' medium so to speak, and that it is almost impossible to study Plotinus' influence on fourth-century intellectual history without remembering that these two philoSOphers were always colleagues and collaborators.9 Plotinus and Porphyry, though both were from the East, lived and taught in Rome for a number of years and the influence which they exercised upon the teaching of philo- SOphy in the West, although the full extent of this influence has only recently become recognized, was certainly consider- able. But while Neoplatonism was the chief source of pagan spirituality, especially after Porphyry's disciple Iamblichus managed to compromise its elitest doctrines with the traditional mythology and the mystery cults, it was also the intransigent foe of Christianity. This fact seems at first ironic, since, in many of its teachings, Neoplatonism, as St. Augustine himself acknowledged, had 101 much in common with Christianity. Nevertheless, Christianity was for Porphyry and other staunch pagans always the parvenu religion, the religion which sought to undermine the much- venerated Roman traditions; the religion which scoffed at the myths; and not only ridiculed the old gods but even blamed them for the disasters which had befallen the declining Empire. The many commentaries on Platonic dia- logues which the Neoplatonists wrote were, above all, an attempt to revive Plato, to offer his type of spirituality as an alternative to Christianity. On the negative side, Porphyry and others were quick to find contradictions in the Bible, to ask embarrassing questions about it or to impugn Christ's moral reputation. But in its attempt to defend paganism from the Christian polemicists, Neoplatonism was forced, ironically enough, to draw upon religious ideas (as, for instance, in its demonology, which derived from Mithraism and Judaism) not indigenous to the Graeco-Roman world; thus Neoplatonism could not justifiably claim to be traditional any more than Christianity could. This fact explains in part why Neoplatonism died out while Christianity continued to flourish. Moreover, in view of the NeOpla- tonists' polemic against Christianity, it is evident why the greatest foe (or at least the most politically powerful) to Christianity in the fourth century, Julian the Apostate, chose to patronize and to surround himself with so many philosophes and sophists of Iamblichus' persuasion. Unquestionably, then, the hostility between Neoplatonism and 102 Christianity was widely attested by the early fifth century.11 But Neoplatonism, though an uncompromising foe to Christianity, was always an elitist movement which appealed foremost to wealthy aristocrats. A second enclave of resistance, and surely a not less menacing one, was the grammatical-rhetorical schools. However, to understand why these schools threatened Christian teaching, it is necessary first to bear in mind that they promoted, the study of Latin grammar and rhetoric in conjunction with the explication of classical texts, especially Cicero and Vergil. It appears probable too, that rhetorical study infiltrated the Roman schools, which originally concentrated on grammar, as oratory became displaced from the world of politics, as, that is, the Romans gradually lost their freedom of speech under the tyranny of the Emperors. Cicero was always the standard for Latin grammar, and equally important for the art of rhetoric. But Vergil came to have equal authority and even eventually eclipsed Cicero; Vergil was even practically worshipped as a divine genius by the fifth century. It would be diffi- cult, in fact, to overestimate the importance of these grammar schools in educating the social leaders of fourth- century Roman society. Roman senators as well as bureaucrats were educated in them; and virtually all of the men who aspired to prominence recognized the grammar-rhetorical school education as a mark of, and prerequisite to, social 103 distinction. And, of course, the study of Cicero and Vergil entailed the study of pagan mythology and religion. Christians, then, were forced to learn Latin through texts which, though virtually sacred to pagans, were shocking to their own religious sentiments--a fact which was always a problem for Christian teachers. Julian the Apostate, clearly sensitive to the direct opposition between pagan religious beliefs and Christianity, ordered that Christians could not teach in these schools. Furthermore, it is instructive to note how many literary men came to high positions of leadership in the later fourth century: Ausonius, Claudian, Macrobius, Eugenius and Libanius to name only a few. These literary men, so strikingly lacking in vital creative powers, were understandably conservative and antiquarian in outlook: they seemed to assume that Vergil had been the height of poetic genius. Vergil's poetry could never be surpassed; so why try to surpass it--it was far better simply to attempt to understand it adequately and imitate it! This, then, was the type of education which Prudentius, at one period in his life a Roman magistrate, must have received; and the many speeches which occur in his poetry are, in fact, the clearest trace of his rhetorical training. Yet if traces of the Roman school education are so often obscured in Prudentius' poetry, at first sight at least, by his Christian belief, they are perfectly obvious in the works of Symmachus, Claudian and Macrobius, his contemporaries.12 104 Such, however, was the intellectual milieu in which Prudentius wrote the Psychomachia. He was a Christian polemicist at a time when Christian teaching was being attacked upon philosophical grounds, when the church was dominant, but not predominant, and still competing with a multitude of pagan cults. Unlike these cults, considered either singly or collectively, Christianity was a self- contained system of belief which purported to have answers for all the truly profound moral questions and to be able to reveal the many mysteries of the created universe; paganism was, by contrast, a syncretism of religious beliefs. On literary grounds, the Psychomachia is, as Macklin Smith has claimed, an "assault upon Vergil," a mock-heroic poem intended for an audience which had been rigorously schooled on Homer and Vergil. But, historically considered, it is a satire on pagan cult worship, a worship devoted to the ser- vice of so many preposterous gods, such as the deified Virtues. Moreover, Prudentius' polemic was soon to be taken up by the greatest father of them all in the West, St. Augustine, in the first ten books of the City 9: God. NOTES TO CHAPTER VI 1See Rev. T. M. Lindsay, "The Triumph of Christian- ity," The Cambridge Medieval History, 2nd ed. (New York/ London, 1924), I, pp. 87-117; P. R. L. Brown, "Aspects of the Christianization of the Roman Aristocracy," Journal of Roman Studies, LI (1961), pp. 1-11; A. Cameron, CIaudia—z Poetr and Propaganda at the Court of Honorius (Oxfora, 1970) H. Chadwick, The —Earl Church— vol. I of The Pelican History 2:.EEE Church—Tl ; rpt. London, 1976);-5I11; A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire (Oxford, 1964), I, pp. 1-216; J. Vogt, Der Niedergang Roms (Zurich: Kindler, 1965) pp. 258- 302; A. Momigliano, ed., The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century (Oxford, 1963); E. Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (rpt. Modern Library Ed1t1on; New Yofk: Random House, n. d.), I, pp. 303- 956; II, 1— 269, 347- 83; L. White, The Transfor- mation of the Roman World (Los Angeles, 1966); O. Seeck, Gesch1cH—e des Untergangs der Antike Welt, 2nd ed. (Stutt- gart, 1921-77? rpt. Darmstaat: Wissenschaftliche Buch- gesellschaft,1966), II, pp. 147- 93, 343- 460; III, pp. 1- 175; VI, pp. 1-32; J. Burkhardt, The Agg_of Constantine the Great, tr. Moses Hadas (New YEEE: Pantheon, 1949) pp. I24— 214; G. Boissier, La Fin du Paganism (Paris: Hachette, 1891), I, pp. 17I:255— II, pp. 123-77, 267- 390; J. B. Bury, History of the Later Roman Empire, lst ed. (1889; rpt. New York: Dover, 1958), I, pp. 1- 209. 2See J. B. Bury' 8 edition of Gibbon' s Decline and Fall (London: Methuen, 1897), II, App. 19, pp. $65-68;— H. Dorries, Constantine the Great, —tr. R. Bainton (Harper Torchbook ed.; New York. Harper and Row, 1972), pp. 177- 96. 3See Gibbon, Chapter XXIII, I, pp. 756-97; J. Bidez, La Vie de 1' Empereur JuIien (Paris: Budé, 1930), esp. pp. _18:21, 67- 81, 169- 76; and the following R. E. articles: Kroll, "Iamblichos," IX, cols. 645- -51, 'Eusebius," VI, col. 1445, nr. 35, "Chrysanthios," III, col. 2483, Dexippos," V, cols. 293-94; K. Praechter, "Maximus," XIV, 2, cols. 2563-70,"Sa11ustius," 2nd Reihe, I, 1, 1960-67? W. Ensslin, "Priscus," XXIII, l, cols. 7-8; W. Schmid, "Eunapius," VI, cols. 1121-27; Freudenthal, "Aidesios," I, col. 941, nr. 4; Karl Gerth, "Die Zweite oder Neue 105 106 Sophistik," Suppl. VIII, cols. 719-78. In addition, see Zeller, III, 2, pp. 724-42. 4Cf. Prudentius' brief allusion, not altogether unfavorable, to Julian in Apo., 449-508. 5See Gibbon, II, Chapter XXVIII, pp. 46—53, esp. p. 48, nn. 7, 8. 6See n. 23 to Chapter V above; note also anathemas 4, 5, and 6 against Origen (553 A.D.), reprinted on pp. 826- 27 of the H. Gorgemanns and H. Karpp edition of his De Principiis, referred to already in n. 24 to Chapter Yfabove. 7See Cumont, Les Religions orientales, pp. 69-84; Georges Lafaye, "Litafiie grecqued'Isis,“Revue d3 philo- 1ogie, II (1916), PP. 55-108. 81m Peri., E: 1011 ff. (cf. n. 23 to Chapter 2 above); see, too, Preller, II, pp. 390-94; Dill, pp. 82-83. 9See Courcelle, pp. 415—17. loPrimarily in the Adversus Christianos, ed. A. Har- nack (Berlin: Abhandlungen der Konigl. Akademie der Wissen- schaften, 1916); see Courcelle, pp. 74-76, 209-11. 11The last great polemicist on the Christian side was St. Augustine in the first ten books of the City 9I_§2d; see B. LaCroix, "Les Adversaires visés par Saint Augustin dans la Cite de Dieu," Medieval and Renaissance Studies, IV (1958): pp. 163-75; Boissier, II, pp. 338-80. len the Roman rhetorical schools in the fourth and fifth centuries, see Boissier, I, pp. 171-231; Dill, pp. 383-451; A. Alfoldi, A Conflict 2E Ideas In the Late Roman Empire, tr. H. Mattingly (Oxford, 1952), pp. 96-124; D. Comparetti, Vergil In the Middle A es, tr. E. F. M. Benecke (rpt. New York: Stechert, 1929 , pp. 34-74. CHAPTER VII DESCRIPTIVE ALLEGORY Now that it has been shown that the deified Virtues and demonic Vices of the Psychomachia are not true personi- fications, and that, even if they were, allegory is not in any case the mere use of personified abstractions as rhe- torical figures, it remains to determine whether or not there is any other allegorical element besides scriptural allegory in this poem. I firmly believe that there is. However, in order to distinguish that other allegorical element, it is, at the outset, necessary to keep in mind that Prudentius was trained in the Roman schools of rhe- toric. This other allegorical element, then, which mainly consists of the describing in vivid detail of the physical features, dress and attributes of the various Virtues and Vices, might well be termed "descriptive allegory," an expression that is, in fact, based upon the terminology of the then contemporary rhetorical handbooks.l Like Vergil, Prudentius was studious of obscurity in his manner of expression. This explains in the first place why his poems were so much glossed. But these glosses testify, more significantly, that there is allegory 107 108 in many of the poem's descriptive passages. Let me refer to some typical examples. Thus, Fides is described as "disordered in her rustic dress, her shoulders bare, her locks uncut, her arms out-thrust." Arevelo, in his commen- tary to the Migne edition of Prudentius' works, terms this a "poetic description" and cites an interpretation of the passage by an obscure Prudentius commentator: that such was the appearance of newly baptised converts as they went to confession.2 Whether Prudentius was actually trying to communicate such a notion through his graphic representa- tion of Fides is, of course, a matter of speculation: nevertheless, the true value of the comment is that it sug- gests an approach which can be used profitably to under- stand the various descriptions of the Virtues and Vices in the poem. It is obvious, for example, that Prudentius' graphic description of Fides is intended to communicate through the representation of the concrete details of her dress something about the nature of faith. It might be a bit difficult, admittedly, to determine, according to the allegorical method of interpretation, how to translate exactly, in a one to one fashion, these concrete descriptive details into abstract ideas about the nature of the virtue faith. But this difficulty should not be allowed to invali- date the basic approach. And, in fact, there are other comments and glosses on the text of the poem to corroborate such a line of interpretation: the sword of Pudicitia is 109 "the word of God"; the Stoic-inspired image of Patientia, standing rigidly with eyes fixed upon the raging warfare, indicates the nature of this Virtue; the attribute of Sobrietas, the sublime banner of the cross, stands for Christ.3 But the purport of Prudentius' descriptive writing is even more evident with regard to the Vices: the fire- brands of Libido, the rabid facial features of Ira, the coiffure of Superbia, the languid appearance of Luxuria, the hooked hand and money-bags of Avaritia or the pitfall of Fraus can all be translated in a one to one fashion into abstract ideas about the nature of these particular Vices. Using the allegorical method, for instance, one might under- stand that Superbia's coiffure stands for haughtiness, Fraus' pitfall, deceit.4 In many cases, the intended alle- gorical meaning of such descriptive details is pretty much self-evident, in others, there is a certain amount of diffi- culty in deciding what some of the details are intended to signify--but even when such a difficulty of interpretation does occur, it is still clear that Prudentius' descriptions invite allegorical interpretation. But there is nothing strange in Prudentius' tendency to lapse into enigma or riddle: it has already been seen that there is a general tendency for allegory on occasion to blend into enigma; and, of course, Prudentius' occasional obscurity can justly be likened to the enigmatic manner of expression character- istic of the model which inspired him more than any other, Vergil's Aeneid. 110 Nor is there anything peculiar about Prudentius' use of descriptive allegory. Descriptive allegory is simply the merging together of two originally separate and distinct rhetorical figures of speech, "descriptio" and "allegoria." "Descriptio," as a rhetorical technique, would no doubt have been taught in the contemporary Roman grammar schools; it is explained, for instance, in Priscian's Praeexercitamina, which, as Curtius points out, was merely a Latin translation of Hermogenes' progymnasmata.5 By com- paring these two rhetorical handbooks, one can see, further- more, that desgriptio is simply a Latin translation of the Greek ekphrasis (etymologically akin to ekphrazo 'to recount or describe'). In actual practise, ekphrasis was the detailed description of actions, such as battles, literary personas, places or even entire epochs. From Alexandrian times onward it entailed, more and more, the description of works of art; classic examples of ekphrasis with regard to art objects in Vergil's Aeneid include the pictures of scenes from the Trojan War at Carthage (I. 466-93) and the shield of Aeneas (XIII. 626-728), the latter passage an obvious imitation of the shield of Achilles in the IIIEQ (IZIII. 478-617). This merging together of ekphrasis and allegory which is so characteristic of the Psychomachia was not at all Prudentius' invention but rather was already by his time traditional. The Homeric commentators first stimu- lated this development, especially the so-called Pergamum 111 school headed by Krates of Mallus; this information is preserved in Eustathius' commentary on two crucial descriptive passages in the IIIEQ, the one, the shield of Agamemnon, (II. 15-38), the other, the shield of Achilles (IyIII. 478-617).6 From what can be gathered of the scanty evidence, Buffiére argues that both of the Homeric passages were subjected to thoroughgoing allegorical interpretation as expounded by the Stoics; in short, the shield of Achilles, it was claimed, signified the cosmos. The various descriptive details of these Iliadic passages were then translated allegorically. But it is yet more noteworthy that there is a famous work by Porphyry (doubt- less written at a time when he was still strongly under the influence of the grammarian Longinus), 92 Ehe EEXE.EE Egg Nymphs, which is an allegorical interpretation of a descriptive passage in the Odyssey (IIII. 102-12).7 Like that of the Stoics, Porphyry's allegorical interpretation is fundamentally cosmological: the cave of Ithaca is the world. With this preconception in mind, Porphyry next proceeds to translate the various descriptive details of the passage allegorically. Thus, if classic descriptive passages in Homer and Vergil could be considered allegorical and subjected to the ingenious scrutiny of allegorical exegetes, the way was prepared for the writing of descrip- tive passages which were allegorical in intent: the funda- mental presupposition of these exegetes was always, of 112 course, that Homer himself had intended allegory in such descriptive passages. This presupposition was, as well, perfectly in accord with the inclination of the antiquarian- minded literary men of the later Empire to revere Homer as the supreme sage, the source of all wisdom and knowledge; to these men Homer was always more profound than he appeared to be at first sight--his poetry was always a mystery to be understood only by those few initiates capable of pene- trating its depth. Thus, the deified Virtues and demonic Vices of the Psychomachia are not true personifications of abstractions; the idea of dramatizing such beings was, furthermore, scarcely new by Prudentius' time: as has been seen, there are many instances of them in Homer and Hesiod and in Graeco-Roman literature as well. There is nothing alle- gorical in the mere representation of such beings or even, for that matter, in the representation of genuine personi- fications of abstractions such as are to be found in Medieval literature: the names of personified abstractions indicate their nature.8 The nonscriptural level of alle- gory in the Psychomachia, if not the representation of Fides and Ira and the other divinities is, instead, the provoca- tive descriptions of them.9 Nor is it at all surprising that modern Prudentius criticism has failed to recognize this level of allegory in the poem: this failure is simply another manifestation 113 of a predisposition to over-emphasize Prudentius' Christianity. He was more a Roman than a Christian; and scholars are only now in the process of discovering to what a large extent other writers besides Vergil and Claudian must have influenced him. It has been my aim here to show that the Psychomachia, like Prudentius' other poems or even the works of other fourth-century writers, reflects the general syncretistic tendencies of the age. Up until now much Prudentius criticism has viewed the poem teleologi- cally, as having given rise to the Romance 9: the Rose and other works of Medieval poems in which personified abstractions figure prominently; but the time has come to try to interpret the poem, to the best of our ability, as readers of the fourth century must have interpreted it. NOTES TO CHAPTER VII 1In this connection, see Reinhardt, "Personifikation und Allegorie," pp. 34-40; and App. B on the illustrated manuscripts of Prudentius. 2On the Prudentius glosses, see M. Manitius, "Zu den Prudentiusglossen," Historische Vierteljahresscrift, XXVIII (1934), pp. 142-53; H. Silvestre, "Apergu sur les commentaires carolingiens de Prudence," Sacris Erudiri, II (1957). pp. 50-74. 3See the following glosses, printed in Arevelo's edition: 21; 23, "nuda, prompta ad bona opera"; 25; 43; 44; 50," [gladium] quod est verbum Dei"; 109; 141; 154; 181; 199; 208; 213; 239; 245; 287; 311; 315; 491; 614; 655; 788-89; 830; 843; and Arevelo's commentary on the following passages: 21, "Poeta virtutes et vitia graphice describit. Multa ad hunc libellum illustrandum peti possent ex Characteribus Theophrasti . . ."; 22, "Poeticam hanc fidei discriptionem Iso satis feliciter interpretatur . . . ; 23; 183 (on Superbia's coiffure). 4See 43-45, 113-14, 183-85, 257, 312; and Arevelo's commentary to 42, 112, 183, 312. 5See E. R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, tr. W. Trask (Princeton, 1953), pp. 69, 182, n. 37; Hermogenes, ro mnasmata, ed. H. Rabe (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), II, pp. $2.33, Prisc1an, Praeexercitamina, ed. H. Keil in Grammatici Latini (Leipzig, 1859; rpt. Hildesheim: Olms, 1961), pp. 438-39. 6See Buffiére, pp. 155-65; Pépin, pp. 152-55; on Krates, see also Kroll, R.E., II, cols. 1634-41, already referred to in n. 44 to Chapter II. 7Edited by A. Nauck, Por h rii Opuscula, 2nd ed. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1886), pp. 54-81; see also Buffiére, pp. 70, 419-37. 114 115 8See Williams, p. 79; cf. the German "durchsichtig" as in Usener, pp. 73-79. 9In this connection, note Jauss' distinction between "Gestalt" and "Deutung" in "Form und Auffassung der Alle- gorie in der Traditio der Psychomachia," Medium Aevum Vivum, Festschrift ffir Walther Bulst, ed. Jauss and Schaller (Heidelberg, 1960), PP. 185-86. APPENDIX A THE TITLE PSYCHOMACHIA APPENDIX A THE TITLE PSYCHOMACHIA It isn't exaggerating, surely, to say that the poem's title has been problematic for generations of readers. Nevertheless, the interpretations of it which have been expounded thus far are, to my mind at least, unsatis— factory. Modern Prudentius scholars have turned to ancient and Renaissance commentators in the attempt to explain the title; but these scholars have tended to overlook two essen- tial facts: first, that even the most ancient commentators lived in early medieval or Carolingian times and hence, were not at all contemporaries of Prudentius; second, that it is not safe to expect any of these commentators to have anything but a superficial or elementary knowledge of Greek. A closely related question, as well, is the status of Greek studies in the West in the later fourth and early fifth cen- turies. The best discussion of the title is, at any rate, Gnilka's, in which there is a profusion of references to the scholarly literature relating to this subject. It must be admitted at the very outset too, that Gnilka's view, that the title is deliberately ambivalent, or rather multivalent, is quite possibly correct.l 116 117 Nevertheless, I would like to propose a new inter- pretation of the title, one which I think will resolve, though tentatively, the difficulties connected with it. The basis of my interpretation—-a work to which Gnilka does not refer--is Buck's Reverse Index of Greek Nouns and Adjectives, under compounds ending in -machia.2 The compounds listed there can be divided into two main classes: in the one, the first element is a modifier, performing an adjectival/adver- bial function: e.g., rabdomachia, machairomachia or cheiro- L4 machia, where the first element indicates how the "machia” is fought, that is, the means by which it is fought; or hemeromachia, nyktomachia, where the first element indicates the time when it is fought: or even oikomachia and teicho- machia where the first element indicates the place; or, finally, kakomachia and eythymachia, in which the first element is just generally descriptive of the "machia." In the other class, however, the first element is subjective, that is, it specifies who fights the "machia": e.g., theo- machia, skiamachia or anemomachia. The special distinction of this second class, furthermore, is that some of the com- pounds in it also serve as titles of poems, such as Kentauromachia, Titanomachia, Gigantomachia or Batrachomyo- machia. Moreover, one must ask which of these compounds were likely to have been known to Prudentius, given that his knowledge of Greek was clearly elementary?3 There was 118 certainly nothing innovative in his mere use of Greek titles: Vergil here served as an authority.4 The much-cited verb psychomacheo does little to elucidate this problem, since it is not likely that Prudentius had read Polybius in the original Greek when there were standard Latin works on the Punic Wars such as Livy readily available to him. Though but few of these compounds, then, might have been known to Prudentius; he very likely knew of those used as titles of poems, such as Kentauromachia, Titanomachia, Batrachomyo- machia or, lastly, Gigantomachia, the title of the poem written by Prudentius' contemporary, Claudian, a title whose importance in this regard has been duly emphasized by Hfifer. In this subclass, the first element stands for a plural noun.5 I believe, then, that the first element of Psycho- machia stands for the plural noun form, psychai. But to what, next, do the psychai refer? The answer to this per- plexing question, I believe further, is suggested by the now discredited etymology of psyche which was current in Pruden- tius' age (and even long before that time) and by two lines from Book One of the Contra Symmachi:6 Sed nec virtutes hominum deus, aut animarum, Spirituumve vagae tenui sub imagine formae. (445-46) These lines, an obvious reminiscence of Vergil (Aen. 2;. 273-94), are in turn commented upon by Arevelo, inter- estingly enough, in the following manner: 119 Sententia est, Deum non esse virtutes hominum ut pudicitiam, fidem, negue vagas formas animarum et spirituum, ut daemonum et angelorum, tenui sub imagine. Now the essentially demonic and spiritual nature of the Vices has been insisted upon above.7 In the fourth century, and even to some extent before that time, it was common to consider spirits or psychai, as daimons.8 This is simply another illustration of the syncretistic tendencies of the age. The psychomachia is, then, the battle of the psychai, or spirits, otherwise designated in the poem as the Vices. And, according to this line of interpretation, there is even a gloss on this title at the very beginning of the poem in line 8: "seditio atque animam morborum rixa fatigat . . . It would be rash, admittedly, to pretend that my interpretation of the poem‘s title is conclusive; but this interpretation does, I think, account for the title at least as well as any other which has been up until now pro- posed. To me the difficulty of understanding Prudentius' poetry is connected with the difficulty of understanding the later Latin language; and Latin in the fourth century was beset by the same problem which had beset it in Cicero's time: a deficiency of vocabulary so that one word was forced to have many diverse meanings. The Latin animae which roughly translated several senses of the Greek psychai was one such word; animae, like the Greek psychai, O O 9 I ' were often nether spirits. Prudentius' usage of anima was 120 even influenced, evidently, by certain Neoplatonic and Gnostic conceptions of the psychE.10 The Vices, treated at length as early as Cicero, simply came to be identified with these nether spirits.11 NOTES TO APPENDIX A 1See C. Gnilka, Studien zur Psychomachie des Pru- dentius (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1963), pp. 19-26, esp. p. 26: and R. Argenio, "La Psychomachia di Prudenzio," Rivista di Studi Classici, XXIII (1960). PP. 267-68. 2C. D. Buck and W. Peterson, A Reverse Index of Greek Nouns and Adjectives arranged by Terminations (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1845), p. 167. 3A close analysis of his works reveals that the Greek words known to him were either technical terms relating to the Church and thus, were in common use, or such terms as could easily have been gleaned from handbooks and classical texts studied in the Roman grammar schools. In this respect, Prudentius even foreshadows the medieval tendency to display ostentatiously bits and snatches of Greek learning; see Courcelle, p. 411, n. l: H. Woodruff, The Illustrated Manuscripts of Prudentius (Cambridge, Mass., 1930), pp. 3-4. 4See Gnilka, p. 19, n. l. 5 . Gnilka, p. 20, n. 8. 6This is the etymology which would derive s che from the verb psycho 'blow, breathe'; cf. Etymologicum Magnum, ed. T. Gaisford (Oxford, 1848; rpt. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1962), p. 819, under s che, 31-40; cf. also Macrobius, Comm., ed. J. Willis, 7nd ed. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1970), I, l4, l9: "Hippocrates [dixit animam] spiritum tenuem per corpus omne dispersum . . . ; cf. further the L. anima with the Gr. animos 'wind': 39, aemi 'breathe hard, blow.‘ 7See Chapter V. 121 122 8Cf. Philo, de gigantibus, ed. Colson and Whitaker (Loeb ed.; London: Hainemann, 1929), in vol. II of his collected works, IV. 16; Heinze, Xenokrates, 55. 78-123; Iamblichus, d3 Mysteriis, ed. Parthey, I. 7. 8, pp. 21-29 and passim; and Porphyry's Letter to AnEbo, reprinted in Parthey's edition, pp. XXIX-IIV, 97—43 and passim. 9See Deferrari's and Campbell's Prudentius concor- dance, p. 36, under "animas": g. I. 91; 424; II. 379; p. 35, under "animae": g. 5. 121; Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, II, pp. 69-73, under "anima." loSee Peri., VI. 97; VIII. 10. 11As in, for example, Vergil's Agg., VI. 273-89 or Claudian's In Rufinus, I. 12-40, both of which passages have already—been quoted and discussed above in Chapter K. On the Vergilian passage, see, too, Norden, pp. 210-14. APPENDIX B THE ILLUSTRATED MANUSCRIPTS APPENDIX B THE ILLUSTRATED MANUSCRIPTS I have not dealt with the illustrated manuscripts of Prudentius, in which there were many depictions of scenes from the Psychomachia, because all twenty of them are so late; (though the greatest authority on them, Stettiner, has stated that they ultimately derive from a fifth-century original).l These manuscripts are relevant to my arguments, however, in that the Virtues are depicted as divine, the Vices as demonic figures in them. The manuscripts have been divided into two groups: in the one, the Virtues and Vices wear long garments or short tunics, while in the other, the Virtues are in mail and helmets while the Vices wear "flame— skirts" resembling shepherd skins.2 Katzenellenbogen shows how much these illustrations are indebted to Roman art. The style of the illustrators became increasingly freer: in the latest manuscript, but even to some extent in the other ones, the art work is decidely more medieval and less Romanized.3 At any rate, these illustrated manuscripts have preserved in varying degrees something of the ancient conception of Virtues as deities (anthropomorphized as goddesses in 123 124 accordance with the text of the poem) and Vices as Furies or demons. Two photographs follow, taken from slides kindly furnished me by Dr. Arnold Williams, which are representative of this manuscript art work. 125 Figure l. Pudicitia fights Libido (Ms. Lol). 126 Figure 2. Pudicitia fights Libido (Ms. L02). NOTES TO APPENDIX B lSee R. Stettiner, Die illustierten Prudentius- handschriften Diss. Strassburg 1895 (Berlin: Preuss, 1895), pp. 200-202; Woodruff, pp. 17-18; A. Katzenellenbogen, Allegories g: the Virtues and Vices in Medieval Art, tr. A. Crick (1939; rpt. New York: Norton, I964), pp. 1-4. 2See Woodruff, p. 5. 3Woodruff, pp. 5-7. 4These photographs reproduce scenes from the art work of two separate manuscripts, both of which are now in the British Museum. Following Stettiner, I have designated the photographs "L01, L02" to avoid confusion as both depict the same scene, Pudicitia fighting Libido, in the poem. On these manuscripts and a third Prudentius manu- script in the British Museum, see Stettiner, pp. 23—31; 138-43; Woodruff, pp. 9; 17. 127 BIBLIOGRAPHY BIBLIOGRAPHY Reference Works Buck, C. D. A Reverse Index 9: Greek Nouns and Adjectives arranged 2y Terminations. Chicago, 1945. Deferrari, R. J. and J. M. Campbell. Concordance 9: Pru- dentius. Cambridge, Mass., 1932. 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