Foxhall (2013) Religion

CH AP TER 7
Religion
1 RE L I G I O N A N D S O C I E T Y
People in the Greek and Roman worlds were surrounded by the super-
natural, thus religion was regularly intermingled with other aspects
of life. On the other hand, cult activity often had special, designated
times and places, and sometimes the structures and institutions of cult
practice created alternative social realities and relationships different
from the ‘everyday’ routines of social, political and economic life. In
most ancient societies, the state played a major role in the organization
and performance of religious rituals and festivals, but this is not to say
that all religious life was controlled by the state. Many religious acts
and celebrations were performed by individuals, households or other
kinds of groups and associations with little or no reference to the state.
Supernatural experts practised their arts at all levels. And belief in super-
natural power was often enacted at a very personal level through the use
of curses and magic.
Ancient religion is a vast subject, and it is possible to select only a few of
its many gendered aspects here. In some cases participation in and engage-
Copyright © 2013. Cambridge University Press. All rights reserved.
ment with cult and ritual weres gender-specific – only women or only
men could take part (M. Dillon 2002: 237–9) – though other factors such
as age and status could also be equally critical. Sometimes religious activ-
ities offered a niche for people to do things that were ‘out of the ordin-
ary’ in terms of the usual expectations for gendered behaviours. And at
other times religious rites and institutions reinforced established gendered
ideals. These two trajectories need not be contradictory: sometimes the
flouting of conventions in a religious context may simultaneously under-
pin their hegemony in ‘normal’, everyday life.
2 S AC R I F I C E
In Greek and Roman religion, sacrifice was the central ritual and core act
of worship, whether civic or private, and no matter what the deity. It thus
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Foxhall, L 2013, Studying Gender in Classical Antiquity, Cambridge University Press, New York. Available from: ProQuest
Ebook Central. [24 May 2017].
Created from kcl on 2017-05-24 17:00:51.
138 Studying Gender in Classical Antiquity
provides a useful arena for exploring how and to what extent participation
in cult might be gendered, and what other factors interact with gender in
religious contexts. These issues have long been the subject of heated schol-
arly debates. Sacrifice could take many forms, and, while some sacrifices
were ‘bloodless’ (i.e. vegetarian) or were unusual in other ways to suit the
demands of particular cults and deities, usually the rite consisted of kill-
ing, cooking and eating a domestic animal (Bruit Zaidman and Schmitt
Pantel 1992: 28–38).
There has been considerable debate about exactly what roles women
and men played, and in particular, what specific acts might have been
permitted or forbidden along gendered lines. Detienne’s (1989) view that
women played no part in Greek sacrifice and were forbidden from eat-
ing sacrificial meat is an extreme version, but in modified form was a
widely accepted view. Osborne (1993) pointed out many well-documented
examples in religious regulations where both women and men are specif-
ically included or excluded to varying degrees depending on the specific
cult, and other scholars have since supported and elaborated on his con-
clusions (M. Dillon 2002: 236–8, 244–6; Connelly 2007: 179–92).
So, for example, Tsoukala (2009: 13 and catalogue nos. 21, 22, 24, 25, 38)
has demonstrated that leg joints, a highly valued portion of the sacrificed
animal, are carried by both men and (more rarely) women in Attic vase
painting (Table 7.1); correspondingly in inscriptions women (normally
priestesses) as well as men are named as the recipients of these prized (and
sometimes prize) joints. However, in a number of these images there are
clear erotic overtones, underpinned by the seven scenes in which leg joints
are carried by Eros, the divine personification of love and sex. Especially
in scenes involving both men and women, but also in some depicting
all-male groups (Tsoukala 2009: 34), these joints seem to be valuable gifts
to a lover or perhaps a very classy payment for sex (e.g. Munich 2669,
Tsoukala 2009: 29, catalogue no. 48). However, in more general visual
representations of animal sacrifice, women are rarely shown playing an
active role in handling the animal alive or processing it once it is dead
(J. Gebauer 2002). If they appear at all, it is most often as onlookers
(in the visual representations) or as ritual carriers of baskets, water jars
and sacrificial implements (mostly in literature, e.g. Bruit Zaidman and
Schmitt Pantel 1992: 35).
Detienne’s (1989) argument also influenced the orthodox view that
Roman women suffered from ‘sacrificial incapacity’ (Scheid 1991; de
Cazanove 1987), but views have changed (Flemming 2007: 87; Hemelrijk
2009: 254). As in the Greek world, the default assumption of Republican
Religion 139
Table 7.1. Control of leg joints as depicted in Attic vase painting (Tsoukala
2009: 16–30, fragmentary and uncertain scenes excluded)
Scene M F
Men holding leg joints (all-male scenes) 17

Men holding leg joints (scenes including men and women) 14
Men offering leg joints to women 2
Women holding leg joints 5
Suspended leg joint, scenes including men only 3
Suspended leg joint, woman holding spit, to set joint cooking? 1
Totals 36 6
Roman religion was that unless otherwise specified, anyone, regardless

of gender, could participate in some capacity (Flemming 2007: 107). On
state-sponsored art of the Principate, women appear in scenes of sacrifice
as onlookers not as officiants, but the priest in charge of the sacrifice is
rarely anyone other than the emperor acting in his priestly role (Hemelrijk
2009: 259–60). However, in Roman sacrifice, the priest conducted the rit-
ual but did not him- or herself slay the sacrificial victim. Instead, religious
specialists, the popa and the victimarius struck the animal, cut its throat
and butchered it (Hemelrijk 2009: 258–9). In art these cult personnel are
always depicted as men, but bizarrely, the only popa known by name was
a freedwoman, Critonia Philema, whose grave stele in Rome (probably)
describes her as ‘ritual slaughterer (popa) of the apartment block (insula)
of Quintus Critonius Dassus’ (CIL 6.9824; Hemelrijk 2009: 263 and n.
32). What this actually means in practice is unclear, and even the trans-
lation of the text is problematic. Did she actually slaughter animals in
sacrificial rituals? If so, when and where? Or did she just run a butcher’s
shop in the apartment block? We cannot answer these questions with any
certainty.
As in the Greek world, there are many fewer examples of women than
men known to have served in a priestly or other official capacity, and
women officials appear to be absent from the majority of the most central
religious rituals entangled in the political and military heart of the Roman
state. However, when women did officiate, it appears to be on the same
terms as men (Flemming 2007: 107), but not always in what are generally
regarded by modern scholars as the ‘most important’ cults and festivals
(Hemelrijk 2009: 265–7). Roman religion was at its most basic inclusive,
but the social and political order imposed hierarchies of gender, age, rank
and status on the relationships between gods and people (Flemming 2007:
107–8).
3 G REE K C I V I C C U LT: TH E AT H E N I A N
PA N ATH EN AI C F ES T I VA L
By classical times, poleis were in charge of many civic festivals performed
throughout the year, which generally involved widespread participation
by all sectors of the civic community (Bruit Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel
1992: 102–4), although individual rites might highlight (or exclude) spe-
cific groups. The Panathenaia was probably the most important Athenian
civic festival, and is one of the best documented from its origins in the
middle of the sixth century BC through Roman times (Neils 1992b). It
was celebrated in honour of Athena Polias, who protected the polis from
her sanctuary on the Acropolis. The ‘Greater Panathenaia’ was performed
only once every four years, while in the other three years of the cycle the
‘Lesser Panathenaia’ was held. The festival naturally changed consider-
ably in character and content over time. However, it always remained a
prominent celebration of the Athenian polis as a whole, in which many
different elements of the community were explicitly represented playing
specific roles in the cult and associated festivities (Neils R. 1992a; Parker
1996: 89–92, 142–3, 221–2). The festival included a procession that moved
from the Dipylon Gate, near the Kerameikos, across the agora, and up
the Acropolis to the temples of Athena on its peak. It also featured games,
sacrifices and the gift of a garment (peplos) to the goddess.
During the fifth and fourth centuries BC, which span the height of
democratic government as well as the ascent and demise of Athenian

imperial power in the Aegean, the Greater Panathenaia included a range
of musical competitions and team and individual athletic competitions
and equestrian events for men and boys, for which we have lists of prizes
dating to the earlier fourth century BC (IG II2 2311). Many of these events
were not restricted to Athenian citizens, and entries from outsiders were
welcomed as they flagged the international status of the games. However,
some were only for citizens, notably the team events organized by tribe
(e.g. the torch race, see Chapter 6, section 3; Kyle 1992: 94–7). Unlike a
number of festivals documented elsewhere in the Greek world, including
Olympia and Sparta (M. Dillon 2000; Scanlon 1984; 1988; Serwint 1993;
Pomeroy 2002: 12–19), events for girls and women such as choral singing
and foot races played no part in the Panathenaia. So, while the games
and competitions of the Greater Panathenaia explicitly excluded women,
Religion 141
they also somewhat contradictorily highlighted male citizenship across the
socio-economic scale in some events, but in others upheld the traditional
masculine values of elite aretê and exclusiveness predominant in the wider
Greek world. The role of gender here was thus interwoven with social and
political agendas of wealth and status.
Women did, however, play a number of important roles in the
Panathenaic ritual. The priestess of Athena Polias was from one of the old,
elite, kin-based organizations in Athens, the Eteoboutadai, and the post
was hereditary and held for life (Connelly 2007; Blok 2009). This is an
interesting contrast to the post of priestess of Athena Nikê, a democratic
creation of the fifth century BC, where the priestess was selected by lot from
among the citizen women like other Athenian office holders (R. Parker
1996: 125–6, 153; Hurwit 1999: 160–1).
It is widely accepted that the sculpted Ionic frieze of the Parthenon
depicts an idealized version of the Panathenaic procession watched by the
gods, or a compressed depiction of the festival as a whole (Hurwit 1999:
179–86, 227). Whatever particular interpretation one prefers, it is clear
that this frieze almost certainly portrays the types of people deemed to
have participated in both the festival and the procession. Young Athenian
women carried baskets, sacred implements and what may be the peplos
itself (though the peplos group on the Parthenon frieze includes at least
one mature woman), while young metic (resident alien) women carried
the water jars. Our sources suggest that only women from elite families
would have served in these highly esteemed roles (Neils 1992a: 23–7; Barber
1992: 113). Mature men serving as frond bearers (thallophoroi), young men
on foot, some leading sacrificial animals, riders on horseback dressed in a
range of different costumes, charioteers and metics serving as tray-bearers

(skaphephoroi) can all be identified. The main activity for a few elite citizen
women of Athens (Barber 1992: 113; Neils 1992a: 23–4) in the Panathenaia
was the weaving of the peplos, elaborately crafted and decorated, for Athena
(Hesychius, sv. diazesthai; Eur. IT 222–4; Ar. Lys. 641–7). The small group
of ‘weavers’ (ergastinai) must have been the primary craftswomen, since the
little girls who assisted them (arrephoroi) were too young to participate in
the weaving (Foxhall 2012; contra Barber 1992: 113).
In the classical (fifth- and fourth-century BC) celebrations of the
Panathenaic festival, not only did men and women play different,
gender-specific roles, but many other factors combined with gender to
complicate its significance. Plainly a much greater number of men, includ-
ing both citizens and non-citizens of all ages from boys to old men, ran-
ging over a wide socio-economic spectrum, were expected to participate
as something more than spectators in the Greater Panathenaia. The much
smaller numbers of women with roles beyond that of spectator were
mostly young and virtually all elite. This is suggestive evidence bearing on
the conceptualization and ritual performance of the democratic Athenian
citizen body through this key religious ritual. Were women, for the most
part, in some sense beyond democracy? Were the characteristics associated
with eliteness (e.g. elegance, grace, lavish attire) desirable or acceptable for
women, but not considered appropriate for men in a democratic polis?
What might this say about how and why women were valued? There are
no simple answers to these questions, but the Panathenaia provides a good
case study to demonstrate how gender roles in the realm of polis cult and
religion can reveal complex underlying currents of social and political
expectations and ideologies which may flow against the routines of every-
day life.
4 G E N DE R, REL I G I O N A N D TH E STAT E I N RO M E
Regulating communication with divine powers was a job of the Roman
Senate, although all members of the community played their parts in dif-
ferent ways, depending on the occasion (Schultz 2006: 13–14). During
the Republic, groups of priests, organized into colleges, provided reli-
gious expertise and advice to the Senate (Beard 1990: 36–41). Although
a few priesthoods were difficult or impossible to combine with a polit-
ical career, for most this was not a problem, and generally the individ-
uals holding these life-long priesthoods were simultaneously members of
the Senate (Beard 1990: 38). Under the Roman Principate, from the time
of Augustus onwards, relationships between religious institutions and the

state remained important, but altered radically. Since in some senses the
emperor and the imperial household were now the state, some of the trad-
itional Republican priestly titles were now held exclusively by the emperor
(for example pontifex maximus).
Priestesses and other female religious specialists and religious officials
played important roles in specific cults, festivals and rites (Flemming
2007: 95–8, 104–7; Hemelrijk 2009: 260–3), but there were comparatively
few priestesses in the formal state religion of Republican Rome. Only one
of the traditional priestly colleges was female: the six Vestal Virgins, whose
specific task was guarding the sacred hearth of the city (Beard 1980: 13).
In addition, there were several important priesthoods and other religious
duties that were carried out by a married couple (Schultz 2006: 80–1).
Almost all of the most prominent officials in the formal state religion
Religion 143
of Rome, male and female, belonged to wealthy elite families. The state
religion of the city of Rome was ‘restored’ by Augustus, but there were
many innovations and much of the traditional religion of Rome was not
exported to the provinces (Woolf 2009).
By the later Republican period and during the Principate, various
priestly colleges and other cult organizations are richly documented by
inscriptions. While some benefactors and title-holders of these organiza-
tions were of senatorial or equestrian rank, there was room in the cult
personnel of these organizations for less wealthy, lower-status individuals
to achieve recognition. Clearly wealth, rank and status were the critical
factors for determining what roles individuals played, but gender was also
a significant element. In the Latin West in imperial times, almost four
hundred ‘patrons’ of collegia (associations) are known, but only fourteen
patronesses. There are also twenty-six known ‘mothers’ of collegia, in com-
parison with twenty-three ‘fathers’. These people appear to be relatively
wealthy members of the collegium, but not as wealthy and distinguished
as the patrons (male and female) who were generally outsiders. ‘Mothers’
and ‘fathers’ might have relatively humble social origins, and as cult offi-
cials rather than ‘ceremonial’ title holders they did not receive public
honours (Hemelrijk 2008). It is dangerous to generalize on the basis of
relatively few examples, but this pattern suggests that at the highest levels
of prestige in the religious sphere there were few women. However, the
gender imbalance here is likely to have been directly related to wealth and
who controlled it, rather than religious authority per se. When we look at
the lower levels of cult posts, the numbers of men and women are more
equally balanced, suggesting that women were regarded as equally compe-
tent to discharge religious duties.

Particularly in the cities of the empire, imperial cult, celebrating not
only ‘deified’ (dead) emperors but also closely related female and male
family members, became an important element of Roman religion. These
cults were served by priests and, much less often, priestesses. In provin-
cial cities, these priestly offices might be conferred by the emperor on an
individual as an honour, but were often voluntarily shouldered as a lit-
urgy by a wealthy member of the community, along with the expenses of
holding festivals (e.g. celebrating the emperor’s birthday), in part to main-
tain strong links with the Roman authorities. In Rome the first priestesses
of deified emperors were their wives: Livia served as sacerdos of Augustus
alongside the sodales Augustales and Augustus’ nephew Germanicus who
served as flamen. Livia herself was also deified after her death and became
the object of cult worship; in Rome she was served initially by the Vestal
Virgins, then, together with Augustus, by the priests of the Arval Brethren
(Hemelrijk 2007: 319–20). Outside Rome, in Italy and the provinces of
the Latin West, male priests took charge of the cult of the emperor while
female priests oversaw the cult of the empress and other female members
of the imperial family (some of them not officially deified) (Hemelrijk
2007: 321).
However, it would appear that the male priests took charge of the larger
and more important festivals and sacrifices, such as those in honour of the
emperor’s birthday. The female priests seem to have more regularly carried
out smaller-scale rites and offerings, such as pouring libations. Also there
were many fewer major celebrations at which empresses were honoured on
their own, although they might be honoured alongside the emperor and
other members of the imperial family. For example, an inscription dating
to about AD 15 from Gytheion, south of Sparta, records an imperial festival
which celebrated Augustus on the first day, the emperor Tiberius on the
second, Julia Augusta (daughter of Augustus) on the third, Germanicus
on the fourth, Drusus on the fifth and on the sixth day Titus Quinctius
Flamininus, the Roman general who had defeated Philip V of Macedon
in 197 BC (SEG XI 923; Beard et al. 1998: 254–5, no. 10.5a). Significantly,
Julia is the only woman honoured in this festival. Both male and female
priestesses are documented as contributing to the costs of celebrations,
sacrifices, games, performances, food distributions and dedications of stat-
ues and buildings (Hemelrijk 2007: 327–30). These were simply one elem-
ent of the wider benefactions that wealthy men and women conferred on
their cities.
5 M E N’S WO RD S , WO M E N’S R I TE S
A number of rites in the Greek world and several in Rome were lim-
ited to women. Often they are described by modern scholars as ‘mystery’
cults because of the secret rites performed, although the term technicially
refers to cults that require rites of initiation. Not all so-called mystery
cults were single-sex, most notably the Eleusinian Mysteries for which
initiation was open to all. In the Greco-Roman world, even when spe-
cific rites are gender-exclusive, it is rare for a cult as a whole to exclude
women or men as worshippers altogether (Schultz 2006: 5). These rituals
offer interesting examples of the impact of gender on religious practices,
as well as the range of religious duties and activities that women might
undertake.
Religion 145
Greece: the Thesmophoria

The Thesmophoria, dedicated to Demeter and her daughter Kore (also
known as Persephone), was celebrated all over the Greek world in the
autumn around the time of the cereal sowing (M. Dillon 2002: 110–20). It
has often been regarded as a ‘fertility’ rite, but, like most rituals, it contained
many layers of meanings and significance, so that to regard it as just about
fertility is simplistic (Lowe 1998: 149, 163–4). Focused as it was on replaying
the separation and reunification of the two goddesses as mother and daugh-
ter, an important element was family values through female links and lines
of descent, which we have seen also in material form in the loom weights
(see Chapter 5, section 7). This is an aspect of kinship that is often sup-
pressed or ignored in Athenian political constructions of family as conveyed
to us in written sources, even though kinship was bilateral (see Chapter 3,
section 2). Many cities held municipal festivals, and quite a few named the
month in which it was held ‘Thesmophorion’. In Athens, however, it is best
documented in inscriptions as a festival organized by individual demes (city
neighbourhoods and villages where citizenship was acquired and validated).
Despite the implication in Aristophanes’ comedy Thesmophoriazousai
(277–8; cf. 657–8) that some kind of meeting was held in a central Athenian
sanctuary (the Thesmophorion), it seems probable that there was no ‘offi-
cial’ central civic celebration (Clinton 1996; M. Dillon 2002: 116–19), and
Aristophanes’ representation may be poetic licence. If this is correct, there
are important implications for the cosmological and spatial construction of
gender in Athens. In those religious activities for men that were organized
by tribe (each tribe being composed of a group of demes), such as the games
in the Panathenaia or the dramatic competitions of the Lenaia and the

Dionysia, the participants assembled, competed and celebrated together in
central locations. In contrast, the deme-based celebrations of women for the
Thesmophoria or the Adonia (a midsummer festival celebrated by women
in honour of Adonis) fragment the city into its component districts, each
with its own local habits. This need not, as Clinton (1996) suggested, have
any genuine historical basis in a prehistoric, ‘pre-synoikized’ Athens, but it
may imply at a symbolic level that the unity of the polis was perceived as
founded on specifically masculine links and associations.
Because the rites performed in the Thesmophoria were secret, and in
particular, secret within the community of women, our sources (all writ-
ten by men) are extremely confused about what exactly happened (Lowe
1998). A fourth-century BC inscription from the Peiraeus lists a number of
foods to be used in the local Thesmophoria, which sound like the ingre-
dients for a bloodless sacrifice, but there were clearly animal sacrifices as
well. Did women perform all stages of the animal sacrifices in these rit-
uals from which men were excluded? Indirect references to women sacri-
ficing during the Thesmophoria from all over the Greek world (M. Dillon
2002: 115–16, 245–6) suggest that it was probably considered fairly nor-
mal for women to carry out the whole process of animal sacrifice in these
all-female festivals. As men were banned from these secret rites of women,
it seems highly unlikely that they participated in (let alone led) the central
ritual of sacrifice. In the related all-female celebration held in early winter,
the Haloa, it is certain that in the fourth century the priestess presided
over the sacrifice (Dem. 59.116).
Rome: Bona Dea and Bacchic cult

In Roman religion some rites restricted to women were worked into the
state religion of Rome, but other cults of these same deities were popu-
lar beyond the official programme, and included both male and female
worshippers and cult personnel (Schultz 2006: 21–2). Social expectations
of gendered behaviours played a major role in both the operation of these
cults and the problems that on occasion arose with them as far as the
Roman state was concerned. Here two examples of the issues of gender
in so-called ‘women’s cults’ will be explored: the worship of Bona Dea
(‘Good Goddess’) and the perceived problems with Bacchic cult organiza-
tions. These examples also demonstrate the difficulties of interpreting the
available source material.
The cult of Bona Dea presents the acceptable face of women’s rites
for the Roman state. The sources present two very different perspectives
on the cult: literary texts emphasize the two approved state celebrations,
while the epigraphical record presents a much broader picture. The liter-
ary descriptions imply that the two celebrations of this goddess within
the Roman state calendar (on 1 May and in early December) were deeply
rooted, traditional elite practices with origins in the far distant past (e.g.
Ovid Fasti 5.147–58). However, the epigraphical and archaeological record
of the cult reaches back only as far as the first century BC (Brouwer 1989:
257). The winter evening rites were held in the house of one of the senior
magistrates of Rome, a consul or praetor, specifically assigned to host them
in that particular year, and officially celebrated ‘on behalf of the people’.
However, a senior woman in his household, his mother or wife, managed
and presided over the actual rites herself while he left the house.
Religion 147
These rites are sometimes described as ‘covered’ or ‘hidden’ (opertum, Cic.
Paradoxa Stoicorum 4.2.32), suggesting a secret, mystery-type cult. However,
several of the literary sources spin this slightly differently, stressing the
extreme modesty of the goddess and her worshippers, who do not wish to
be seen by men (Brouwer 1989: 254–5), thus ‘covered’ or ‘hidden’ in a dif-
ferent sense. The participants consisted of a relatively small number of elite
women, and men were strictly forbidden. The ritual acts appear to have
included sacrifice; Cicero describes how his arch enemy Clodius ‘burnt his
fingers at the most holy fires’ (i.e. referring to burnt offerings and sacrificial
fires) (Cic. de Haruspicum responsis 3.4) when he allegedly invaded the cele-
bration of the Bona Dea in Caesar’s house to tryst with his lover, Caesar’s
wife, Pompeia (cf. Juvenal Satires 6.336–41). Wine-drinking, music and gen-
eral revelry also played a major role in the festivities, though the wine was
clearly somewhat problematic. Several ancient sources suggest that Roman
men traditionally disapproved of women drinking wine (Brouwer 1989:
327–8, 330–1), and in the Bona Dea festivities the wine was euphemistically
called ‘milk’. The behaviour of the participants along with some of the sym-
bology, including snakes and myrtle, is reminiscent of Dionysiac or Bacchic
rites. This is explicit in Juvenal (Sat. 2.82–90, 6.315–45), where he claims the
Bona Dea festivities were a hotbed of erotic debauchery.
Inscriptions, mostly dedications or tombstones, show us a very dif-
ferent side of the worship of Bona Dea, over a long period. There were
numerous ‘non-official’ cult groups dedicated to the goddess, operating
as private collegia with their own female and male cult officials, including
titles such as ‘master’ (magister/magistra), and ‘priest’ (sacerdos) (Brouwer
1989: 372–85). Even in the earliest inscriptions of the first century BC, men
as well as women feature as participants (Brouwer 1989: 260–2), worship-

pers and officials, and elites, free born, freed persons and slaves are all
documented: worship of the goddess crossed class and status boundaries
(Brouwer 1989: 268–94). Overall, the bulk of the inscriptions were erected
by freed persons, mostly women (Brouwer 1989: 280).
The evidence suggests that this was a popular and widespread cult in
the Roman world from its apparent take-off in the first century BC right
through the Principate. The official state festivities involved a small num-
ber of elite women, and were closely controlled by and linked into the for-
mal state religion of Rome, though the attitude of some of our elite male
literary sources is quite ambivalent. However, other manifestations of the
cult, and both personal and group worship of the goddess, were much
more inclusive and widespread. Even though the goddess was particularly
appealing to women, men also participated in her cult.
In contrast, cults of Bacchus (= Greek Dionysos) had a far more
chequered history in Rome and Roman Italy (Schultz 2006: 82–93). The
subject of most scholarly attention is Livy’s (39.8–19) account of the ‘scan-
dal’ of the Bacchantes, and the subsequent suppression and regulation of
Bacchic cults in 186 BC, just over 150 years before Livy’s own time. This is
supplemented by a letter from the consuls of Rome inscribed on a bronze
plaque found in the far south of Italy, implementing a senatorial decree
limiting the practice of Bacchic cult in or around 186 BC, part of the meas-
ures referred to by Livy (ILS 18; ILLRP 511; Tierney 1947; Beard et al. 1998:
290–1, no. 12b). Both of these sources are difficult to interpret for different
reasons (Takács 2000), and although we can get a rough idea from them
about what happened in 186 BC, crucial details remain lost to us, most
importantly exactly why these restrictions were carried out.
The inscription decrees that Bacchic shrines should be closed and dis-
mantled unless the town can claim the cult is locally traditional and essen-
tial, in which case permission to continue worship must be sought from
the Roman Senate. The measure seeks to crack down on Bacchic cult
organizations: only women can be priests, not men; both male and female
‘masters’ (magistri /trae) are banned, and the cult cannot hold funds. Secret
rites are forbidden, and special permission must be obtained for holding
public rites. Numbers of participants are restricted, especially men, prob-
ably to five per event (the terms are rather unclear in the decree). The
punishment for disobedience is death.
Livy’s account is much fuller, but over-dramatized; it has been repeat-
edly pointed out that the main characters in his narrative mirror the stock
characters of Roman comedy, including the naïve but well-born young
man, the virtuous hooker, the deceptive and deluded mother and the
wicked stepfather (Beard et al. 1998: 92; Schultz 2006: 87; Walsh 1996;
Wiseman 1998). Livy (39.8.3) blames the introduction of this ‘foreign’ cult
on an ‘ignoble Greek’ who brought it to Etruria. However, it is clear from
other sources, especially the comedies of Plautus (Beard et al. 1998: 93),
that Bacchic cult was not new to Rome in the early second century BC
but already well established. Moreover, cults of Dionysos had existed in
the Greek cities of southern Italy for hundreds of years. Bacchic cult was
clearly not ‘foreign’ to Rome in any real sense that we would recognize.
Livy portrays it as a cult of bad practices, ‘secret rites performed by
night’, initiations and the explosive combination of wine, feasting, men,
women, old and young (Livy 39.8.4–6). One can see how the elite Roman
men who ruled the state, both in the early second century BC as well as
in Livy’s own lifetime, at the turn of the millennium, might strongly
Religion 149
disapprove of this crossing of gender, class and status boundaries, and the
wild, ecstatic behaviour and intoxication of cult participants in public
places. Such behaviour on the part of free-born and high-status women
would have directly contravened social expectations of gendered behav-
iour in the eyes of elite men.
What is more puzzling is the notion of a conspiracy at the heart of
this cult which somehow posed a major threat to the Roman state. Livy’s
(39.13.2–14) sensationalist depiction of the cult as not simply lustful but
criminal and murderous seems unconvincing as the real basis of such a
threat, though sensationalism and paranoia could certainly have been fac-
tors in its suppression. However, the provisions of the inscription suggest
that, in addition to Roman elite disapproval of particular behaviours, the
actual organizational structure of the cult was believed to pose some kind
of threat to the state. Eradicating it, or at least limiting the number of
participants (especially men), eliminating most cult offices and forbidding
men to hold positions of leadership are all measures that could suggest
that the cult was just about tolerable if restricted to women, but highly
problematic if men were also involved, especially in its organization. Livy,
however unreliably, also hints at this. His report of the decree of the Senate
(Livy 39.14.7–9) partially echoes the provisions we find in the inscription.
And when the ‘story’ of the cult is revealed to the consuls, we are told that
originally the rites were restricted to women, but the rot set in when a
Campanian priestess initiated her sons (Livy 39.13.8–10). Clearly practis-
ing ‘secret’ rites at night did not help the Bacchantes’ case, but one impli-
cation of both sources seems to be that women, however repugnant their
behaviour, did not pose much of a threat on their own to the Roman state
and the men who ran it. The specific danger, perceived or imagined, of
Bacchic organizations led by men is almost certainly lost to us.
However, the impact of Livy’s account in his own time and place,
Rome under Augustus, is equally interesting. Livy’s History of Rome was
written under Augustus’ patronage and celebrates his power, as well as
his ‘renewal’ and ‘restoration’ of Rome, both implicitly and explicitly
throughout the work. This episode in Livy resonates with a number of
Augustus’ reforms, aimed at restoring ‘traditional values’. The encourage-
ment of legitimate marriage, the discouragement of sexual relationships
that crossed status boundaries and the penalties for prostitutes and adul-
terous women are all subtly echoed in Livy’s narrative (see Chapter 2,
sections 4, 5). In addition, Augustus’ unease concerning ‘foreign’ cults
(Orlin 2002: 3; 2008) and his reinforcement of ‘traditional’ religion also
chime with this story. The close fit to the gendered, moral, sexual and
religious values of Augustan Rome ought to ring serious warning bells
about the historicity of Livy’s account and its value for interpreting the
events of the second century BC. However, the elaborated story also sug-
gests that some very deep-seated suspicions about women’s activities and
the necessity for ‘proper’ masculine (and state) control had not changed
much over more than 150 years.
The obvious similarities between the ‘women’s rites’ of the Bacchic cults
and Bona Dea raise further questions. Why were the rites of Bona Dea
acceptable whereas Bacchic rites were not? In practice, there are many
similarities and overlaps. The key difference appears to be that the former
were firmly under the control of the Roman state, at least as far as elite
women were concerned. They were enacted under the watchful eye of
male authorities in restricted spaces within a very constrained time frame.
Bacchic rituals were entirely outside the formal religious cycle of Rome,
were practised in sanctuaries over which the state had little direct author-
ity, and seem to have been carried out much more frequently. It is possible
that the collegia of Bona Dea carefully avoided the ‘excesses’ that offended
the Roman authorities. But perhaps it is also possible that Bacchic wor-
ship was to some extent ‘rechannelled’ into more acceptable cults of Bona
Dea, imagined to have a fine old Roman pedigree within the state appar-
atus, whether or not that was actually true.
6 VOTI VE D E D I C ATI ON S
The habit of depositing objects in sanctuaries was ubiquitous through-
out the classical world and beyond. Normally this is perceived by modern
scholars as a reciprocal exchange: the visitor or worshipper leaves a mater-

ial object in the shrine in return for a favour requested from or already
given by the god (Osborne 2004). While this is correct at one level, the
motives for leaving behind objects on the occasion of a sanctuary visit
were probably much more varied and complex, including a sense of duty
or respect, leaving behind a memento of oneself in a sacred place, or a
general wish to incur the goodwill of the deity. Such dedications might be
made as part of a formal religious festival or during a personal pilgrimage.
Frequently the small dedications in a sanctuary are all quite similar and
often appear to have been made specifically to serve as votives. However,
what we see in the material record is the aggregate of hundreds or thou-
sands of individual acts of devotion and supplication, performed over a
long period of time for many different reasons which, for the most part,
we cannot now access (Foxhall 2000).
Religion 151
Gender was an important element of votive dedication. The Temple
of Artemis Orthia in Sparta provides an interesting example of gendered
votive behaviours from the archaic period through Roman times (Dawkins
1929). In Sparta and nearby areas of the Peloponnese during the archaic
through Hellenistic periods, small lead figurines were a characteristic type
of votive, and over 100,000 were discovered at Artemis Orthia (Wace
1929: 249) (Figure 7.1). These come in many different forms including
deities, humans, animals and objects. Those that have received the most
attention have been the finds of armed hoplite soldiers, often perceived by
modern scholars as ‘masculine’ dedications associated somehow with the
militaristic culture of Sparta that developed during the archaic period, as
documented in literary sources (Kennell 1995: 136; Vernant 1991: 226). The
rites held at the sanctuary itself are generally portrayed in both ancient
texts and modern scholarship as focused on male concerns, particularly
the violent rituals and contests involving the boys and youths during
their rigorous Spartan training known as the agogê (Kennell 2010: 171–3;
1995: 50–5, 126–8). Alongside the lead votives of hoplite soldiers there are
also figurines of horsemen, archers, light-armed soldiers and musicians,
but interestingly, only two possible athletes (Dawkins 1929: pl. 191; 197;
183; possible athletes pl. 185.28; 183.26, the latter may be an archer). Even
though these figurines depict masculine subjects we do not know whether
they were deposited by men or by women. Nor do we know the motive
for the choice of representation: wishes for success in battle, concern to
mark the transition from youth to manhood, supplication for the safety of
a loved one are all possible motives which could imply donors of different
ages and genders.
In contrast, there are also finds of model textiles and weaving equip-
ment (Dawkins 1929: pl. 90.d; 180.18; 181.27, 28; 186.20, 21, 27, this last
appears to be a male hat). Given the strong association of women and
textile manufacture in Greek societies, most of these were almost certainly
women’s dedications. This suggests either formal rites or private worship
at the sanctuary by women, focused on feminine concerns that paralleled
the well-documented masculine rites. Frequently miniature objects were
dedicated alongside or in place of a ‘real’ object (e.g. a terracotta or bronze
cow instead of a live animal, or perhaps as a commemoration of a sacri-
fice made). In the case of perishable objects, the ‘real’ ones do not survive.
However, at Artemis Orthia finds of bronze and bone dress pins and bone
buttons (Dawkins 1929: pl. 36–7; 87–8) suggest the presence of dedicated
clothing, of which these are the only remaining elements. We know that
at other sanctuaries of Artemis, notably at Brauron in Attica, weaving
Figure 7.1 Sparta, Temple of Artemis Orthia, lead votives: model textiles, hoplites,
archers, flute player (after Dawkins 1929: pl. 181, nos. 19, 20, 21, 25, 26, 27; pl. 183,
nos. 10, 11, 12, 16, 17, 18, courtesy of the British School at Athens)
equipment and clothing were common votive gifts. In the case of cloth-
ing, inventories of votives compiled in the fourth century BC show that it
was always dedicated by women, never men.
Many of the Artemis Orthia votives, such as wreaths, animals or figures
of deities, are ‘gender-neutral’, and it is impossible to tell who or what
kind of person dedicated them. But in the case of other types, it seems
likely that we are seeing gendered patterns, with some shapes more likely
to be deposited by men and others certainly left by women. In the case of

these gendered votives, it seems probable that the motives behind their
deposition were also likely to have been gender-specific, whether related to
a particular communal ritual event, or for more personal reasons relating
to the different lives that men and women led and the different respon-
sibilities they held (Foxhall 2000; Foxhall and Stears 1999; Cleland 2005;
Linders 1972).
Sparta became an important focus of Roman interest, in part because
its legendized past reverberated in harmony with Roman ideals of mascu-
linity. In consequence, Sparta became an important centre for the training
of young men keen to undertake the ‘character-building’ rigours of the
‘traditional’ Spartan agogê, which had been reinvented under the Romans
(Kennell 1995: 82–4). The boys and youths who participated in the contests
and rituals in honour of Artemis Orthia in this period regularly dedicated
Religion 153
inscribed votive monuments commemorating their success. Many of these
had a small iron bill hook attached to them (a few of which survive on
the stones), awarded as prizes in the contests, then dedicated by the proud
winners (Woodward 1929). These are generally described in the scholarly
literature as ‘sickles’, but they are not sickles for harvesting grain. Rather
they are more like the kind of small bill hooks used for pruning and brush
cutting, which were traditionally (back in the classical period) typical
weapons of Lakonian light-armed troops, the soldiers who were not kitted
out as hoplites. In contrast, the armour and weapons associated specific-
ally with full Spartiate citizens fighting side by side in the hoplite phal-
anx was the most prestigious (and expensive) type of infantry equipment,
and forbidden to helots. These curved blades were also the weapons car-
ried by Spartan youths during their training, in the life stage before they
became full adults, Spartiate citizens and hoplite soldiers (Vernant 1991:
234; Kennell 1995: 133, cf. Xen. Anabasis 4.8.25, where it is called a xyelê).
This ancient history of the ‘pruning hook’ explains why it was considered
by the Roman enthusiasts of the reinvented agogê to be an appropriate
prize for the contests at Artemis Orthia. Their association with youthful
discipline and tough training blended happily with elite Roman ideals of
the proper training needed for a boy to develop manly virtue. This group
of votives, then, offers a clear signal that in Roman times the cult and
the worship of Artemis Orthia had genuinely become focused primarily
on the development and performance of emerging youthful masculinity,
while the much more diverse range of cultic elements (and worshippers)
associated with the sanctuary in the classical Greek past had for the most
part been forgotten.
7 CUR SE S AN D M AG I C
While votive dedications indicate the desire of individuals to petition the
gods, and sometimes to display their success or piety to other worshippers,
curses and magical spells show us people who are desperate to commu-
nicate with and harness supernatural powers to address insurmountable
problems in their lives. Magic was regarded with great suspicion and ani-
mosity in both Greek and Roman literary sources, and sorcery was illegal
under Roman law (Pliny the Elder NH 30.3; Graf 1997: 56–66). Scholars
have suggested many explanations for why people turned to these prac-
tices. Winkler (1990a: 71–98) stressed the psychological factors, especially
in relation to love magic. Faraone (1991; 1999: 84) and Graf (1997: 157)
stress the agonistic, competitive contexts of magic, which include spells
aimed at immobilizing rivals in theatrical performance, athletics and erotic
relationships and foiling legal opponents. Eidinow focuses on the motives
of jealousy and hatred, blaming others for misfortunes or lack of success,
and on the perceived need for self-protection in periods of generalized dis-
trust, as a way of managing uncontrollable risks (Eidinow 2007: 231–2).
Men and women from many different walks of life and all social levels
resorted to magic, targeting both male and female victims and address-
ing a wide range of different situations including business problems, legal
issues, personal animosities and relationships (Eidinow 2007; Faraone
1999). Curse tablets mostly use formulaic language drawn from a long and
cosmopolitan literary tradition (Faraone 1999: 31–8). Many of those who
resorted to magic in antiquity consulted a specialist to obtain the cor-
rect magic words, and sometimes got the specialist to write out the spell
as well. Hence we cannot read the terms of such spells too personally or
expect any deep psychological insight: at best we get a sideways glimpse of
widespread socio-cultural perspectives and ideals (Faraone 1999: 43).
Ancient curses and spells often attempt to immobilize victims, to stop
them doing something or to prevent them being successful. Sometimes
the aim is also to cause physical pain or illness. In erotic magic, spells
are gendered in interesting ways. Faraone (1999: 27) has identified two
main categories of love magic, which he calls eros spells and philia spells,
although these categories are not entirely clear-cut in terms of how they
address relationships (Eidinow 2007: 208–9). Eros spells are perpetrated
mostly by men against women, with the aim of getting hold of an unob-
tainable woman, often specifying that she be pulled away from her family.
Usually the spell seeks to bind or immobilize her, or to make her feel no
desire towards anyone else until she comes under the spell-caster’s control.
The language of these is sometimes horrifyingly brutal to modern ears,
and occasionally figurines of bound women submissively on their knees
and stuck with pins, matching the descriptions in some of the magic spell
texts, are found. The example below from Egypt, dating to the third or
fourth century AD, was written on just such a ceramic figurine, wrapped
in lead and sealed in a pot. It was probably originally deposited in a grave,
since the imprecation seems to be directed to a ghost (Faraone 1999: 41):
Rouse yourself for me and go into every place, into every quarter, into every
house, and bind Ptolemais, she whom Aias bore, the daughter of Horigenes …
Lead Ptolemais, whom Aias bore, the daughter of Horigenes, to me. Prevent her
from eating and drinking until she comes to me, Sarapammon, whom Area bore,
and do not allow her to have experience with another man, except me alone.
Religion 155
Drag her by her hair, her guts, until she does not stand aloof from me … and
until I hold her obedient for the whole time of my life, loving me, desiring me,
and telling me what she is thinking. (Daniel and Maltomini 1990–2: 47. 17–27)
The perpetrator may have been lower in status than his victim: he names
both her mother and father (probably implying she is the daughter of a
legitimate marriage or another recognized partnership), but for himself
names only a mother, perhaps suggesting that he was of slave birth or
from some illegitimate union. This may in part explain her remoteness
and his desperation.
Most of these spells are heterosexual; of the eighty-one published
eros spells considered by Faraone (1999: 43, n. 9), sixty-nine are directed
at women (two are homoerotic), while only nine are directed at men
(one of which is homoerotic) and three are ambiguous. Faraone (1999:
147–9) suggests that the paucity of homoerotic love magic of this type
may relate to the much greater accessibility of members of the same
sex in the lives of most people in the classical world. While that may
be true to some extent, barriers of status and age would still restrict the
potential for enacting many homoerotic relationships, so this is clearly
not the whole story. Indeed, Faraone (1999: 117, 159) cites one homo-
erotic Roman example where status difference appears to have been
crucial: Lucullus, who was subjected to love potions by his freedman
Kallisthenes. However, in Faraone’s terms this is a philia spell rather than
an eros spell, a type more often used by women, thus perhaps feminizing
the lower-status Kallisthenes in the story (Plutarch Lucullus 43.1–2). It
may be that the genre itself of these eros-type magical spells held special
appeal for particular kinds of men with particular kinds of erotic and
relationship problems, but was less appealing for some reason (perhaps
the excessive violence and domination embedded in the genre?) to those
with different kinds of erotic problems.
The eight spells he considered in which women attempt to attract men,
in combination with the abundant Greek and Roman literary evidence,
have led Faraone (1999: 149–60) to suggest that the only women who
might regularly have used such magic were prostitutes and courtesans.
The actual examples of the spells themselves are usually unclear about the
status of the victims (though they sometimes give their occupations), so
most of Faraone’s argument is based on the long literary tradition, writ-
ten by men, which represents prostitutes as regular users of love magic
to attract and bind their customers to them. Unfortunately, the reality
behind what became a common literary trope from the Odyssey onwards
is impossible to verify. While some actual prostitutes and courtesans may
have indeed dabbled in magic, and may even have let their clients think
they did, it is equally possible that this representation also served as an
excuse for men’s real-life lack of self-control over their desires for these
women. If, so the logic goes, they used magic, men could blame their
irrational passions and desires on the women’s magical practices and avoid
taking responsibility for it themselves. If that is the case, then Faraone’s
(1999: 166) claim that the practice of erotic magic ‘reflects a flexible
understanding of the gender of the agents of these spells and employs
an equally flexible model of the victim as desiring subject’ is called into
doubt. Whose ‘flexible understanding’ and whose construction of gender
do we see? If we depend heavily on the literary sources, the answer must
be the gendered understanding and construction of elite men, not neces-
sarily of women themselves.
Faraone’s category of philia spells, which appear to be cast mostly by
women, are charms designed to attract. Here the aim is not to control
the man, but to make him look favourably on her, to stop him straying
to other sexual partners and to mollify his anger (thumos). Particularly in
the literary tradition, potions and charms are a common means of attract-
ing men, such as the spurned wife and concubine of Antiphon 1 who
attempted to win back their partners by putting an aphrodisiac in their
wine. There is considerable unease and suspicion in the literature about
the alleged propensity of women to entice men with magic (Faraone 1999:
128–31). However, actual examples of spells written by women suggest that
love and affection from their male partners and jealousy of erotic rivals
were genuine motives for invoking magic. A text on a lead tablet from
Knidos in Asia Minor dating to the second–first century BC and found
near a statue of Demeter contains some errors and has been somewhat
restored, but the details of the content are quite secure:
Prosodion dedicates to Demeter and the Maiden and the gods at Demeter’s side,
whoever is taking away the husband of Prosodion <the husband of Prosodion>,
Nakon, from his children. Do not let Demeter nor any of the gods at Demeter’s
side be merciful to her, whoever receives from Nakon, adding to the misery of
Prosodion, but let Prosodion be blessed, her and her children in every way. And
any other woman who receives from Nakon the husband of Prosodion, adding to
the misery of Prosodion. Do not let her meet with a merciful Demeter, nor the
gods by Demeter’s side, but let there be blessings for Prosodion and her children
in every way. (Eidinow 2007: 389)
This was certainly initiated by a woman worried about her husband going
off with another woman and leaving her and her children. There is noth-
ing of the violence and domination of the Egyptian spell quoted earlier,
Religion 157
which aimed to compel and control a woman. Here the target is not the
husband suspected of wandering, but the ‘other woman’. This may partly
explain why the spell-caster asks Demeter, as a mother, for help in stop-
ping her rival.
Although men and women both resorted to magic in Greek and
Roman societies, when it came to relationships and sex they seem often
to have used magic in quite different ways. This is partly a result of the
long traditions of the genre of magical language, where getting the words
right would have been perceived as crucial to the success of the procedure.
However, the continuing appeal of such spells and the long lifespan of
these fundamentally different gendered approaches to invoking them sug-
gest that the patterns we see reflect deep-rooted ideologies of masculine
and feminine behaviours in classical societies.
8 CON C LU S I ON
From personal relationships to politics, religion and the supernatural
played key roles in classical antiquity for everyone. However, engagement
at all levels is highly gendered, and this is mediated by other socio-political
attributes including status, rank, age and life stage. Participation in reli-
gion was universal, but these attributes filtered the roles that individuals
might normally be expected, and expect, to undertake. While activities in
the religious realm often underpin the status quo, just as often they chal-
lenge or subvert it, at least temporarily. And, as we have seen in the case of
Roman Bacchic cult, religious movements may initiate and compel a cer-
tain amount of change on the part of ruling groups, and permit those out-
side the circles of political power, including women, to carve out niches of
activity and authority for themselves.

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CH AP TER 7

Men holding leg joints (all-male scenes) 17

Roman religion was that unless otherwise specified, anyone, regardless

democratic government as well as the ascent and demise of Athenian

range of diﬀerent costumes, charioteers and metics serving as tray-bearers

of Augustus onwards, relationships between religious institutions and the

tent to discharge religious duties.

Greece: the Thesmophoria

in the Panathenaia or the dramatic competitions of the Lenaia and the

Rome: Bona Dea and Bacchic cult

as well as women feature as participants (Brouwer 1989: 260–2), worship-

scholars as a reciprocal exchange: the visitor or worshipper leaves a mater-

to be deposited by men and others certainly left by women. In the case of

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