Monthly Archives: March 2016

The Sword of Moses

The topic of my research paper addresses the question to what extent the figure of Moses conforms to an ancient conception of a magician. Stated more generally, I began my research project interested in exploring how Moses, taken in a broader context than a figure within the Jewish religious and historical tradition, would have been understood or identified as being a magician. There were clear elements within the Biblical and Jewish traditions of Moses that struck me, from the outset, as being very clearly magical, but I wanted to research if there were other viable ways of interpreting Moses outside of the scope of a prophet who performed miracles.

There are a number of converging factors that make this question a difficult one to answer, including the lack of a clearly articulated conception of what exactly a magician was, what the distinction between magical and religious actions were and how one ought to interpret Moses’ attested actions as related in Biblical/Talmudic accounts compared to seemingly magical texts that have been ascribed to him. I’m approaching this topic trying to steer clear of the unclear distinction between magical and religious activities, aiming to understand what features of the figure of Moses would have been identifiable as being those shared with a magician.

One difficulty that I’ve come across in my research thus far is the existence of a number of dubious manuscripts and apocryphal texts that have been claimed to originate from antiquity, but may very well be much later additions. The issue that I have been having in my research does not arise from the fact that these books exist in and of itself, as I feel that it would be a reasonable move to exclude them from my research given their more than questionable quality and veracity, but rather from the fact that they offer such a compelling lens through which the figure of Moses can be viewed and a stronger connection with his performance of magical acts can be attested. For example, within these works the figure of Moses is claimed to have been the source for what amounts to a very specific spellbook, as well as to have ordered and articulated a hierarchy of angels based on their respective powers and usefulness in the casting of magical spells.

Given that the origin of these texts is hotly contested and may very well be far beyond antiquity, their applicability as sources for a study of classical magic is not a clear-cut issue. By choosing to engage with these texts and include them as sources, I may in fact be undermining my own project by creating not an analysis of the relationship between the figure Moses and the ancient conception of a magician, but of an entirely unknown conception.

According to the Jewish religious tradition, Moses is the source for five books that are collectively known as the Torah. Outside of this canon I have researched an additional five books of Moses. While not all of these are equally magical in their contents, the individuals who have uncovered these “lost” books make the claim that they represent components of a more complete and full tradition of literature on the figure of Moses.

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Expanded: The Annals of Tacitus & the Depiction of the Witch

In building the image of the Roman witch, the extant sources provide an abundance of literary motifs and evidence. Authors such as Lucan, Seneca and Horace have all contributed to the crafting of the classical witch. Yet, while these narratives are great sources for my research, they are literary in nature, and thus problematic in some areas – as many motifs associated to the witch may be used solely for dramatic purposes. The Annals of Tacitus offer an opposing, and unique, perspective into the depiction of the Roman witch. Written as a historical narrative, his coverage from the reign of Tiberius to the reign of Nero gives modern scholars insight into a politically tumultuous period during the Roman Empire. Tacitus’ recount of the use of magic as a means for political attack is absolutely fascinating. However, it is his reconstruction of women and magic that provides a potential construction of a real-life ‘witch’. Through an analysis of the accusations of artes magicae laid against these women, Tacitus also indirectly speaks to a socio-cultural theme of associating women with dark magic. However, in as much as his narrative provides, it also presents a few areas of difficulty; namely, he serves as a reminder that obtaining a unified image of the Roman witch from both the fictional and non-fictional evidence is nearly impossibly and furthermore, his inherent bias towards women and the hackneyed use of magical accusations in our ancient sources do not lend favour to the credibility of his work.

To begin, my area of research focuses on the association of women and dark magic – and what social and cultural phenomena are taking place that are giving rise to this association. My focus is both in the earlier Roman Imperial period (1st century BCE – 1st century CE) and the early European period. By comparing and contrasting these two periods, I hope to be able to shed light on some common social themes – or differences – that took place in both periods that gave rise to women as witches. One of my objectives is to build a culturally specific image of witch in both the early Roman imperial and the early European period by combining the literary evidence with legal and historical documentation. In this objective, Tacitus proves to be an invaluable source for my research

In Tacitus’ Annals, there are many accounts relating charges of magic with women. Two such women I wish to focus on are Munatia Plancina and Aemilia Lepida. In the former, Plancina is accused – alongside her husband Gnaeus Piso – of the poisoning of Germanicus. Tacitus recounts the poisoning and subsequent death of Germanicus in Book 2.69-88 and lists many of the items linked to witchcraft; leaden tablets with Germanicus’ name, remains of human bodies, blood-smeared ashes, spells and curses were all discovered under the floorboards of Germanicus’ house (2.69). In Book 3, he recounts the charges of magic laid against Piso and Plancina. Among such charges are the accusation of assisting in “black arts”, and performing “blasphemous rites and sacrifices” after the death of Germanicus (3.13). Early in his narrative, Tacitus mentions Plancina’s ‘beloved’ friendship with Martina – a famous provincial poisoner (2.74). Later on, he explains that the only witness to prove Plancina’s involvement in Germanicus’ death – Martina – is herself killed when poison is wrapped up in her hair, giving the implicit suggestion that it was Plancina who committed this (3.7).

In the case of Lepida, amongst other charges, Tacitus tells us that she is accused of venena against her ex-hubsand, Quirinius, of feigning to be a mother, of poisonings, of adultery and of seeking out the advice of Chaldean astrologers (3.22).

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Long Blog Post: Tacitus’ Annals and the death of Germanicus – Magic in Literary Sources

The death of Germanicus in 19AD, as described by Tacitus in his Annales, highlights the problematic dynamic within Rome’s elite body that had become prevalent with the establishment of the Principate and the rise of an imperial dynasty. With the powers of the emperor lacking a clearly delineated framework, members of the senatorial class and others in the upper echelons of the roman political machine (including the emperor’s own relatives) had to adapt to the new status-quo (Talbert, 1996, p.331-333). Political maneuvering, the forming of alliances and the realization of higher offices were now all inextricably linked to the autocratic one-man rule of the emperor, a person who must neither be challenged nor outdone (Talbert, 1996, p.335-337). Tacitus, whose moral history harks back to Republican values amidst the predominance of Imperial rule, portrays Germanicus as an individual who fails to recognize the danger of his own success in the face of Tiberius’ suspicious nature (Tac. Ann. 2.72; Cass. Dio. Rom. Hist.57.19 ). Indeed, as Germanicus falls victim to the political machinations of his enemies, who did not hesitate to use magic and poison, and subject him to “the worst of deaths” (Tac. Ann. 2.71), Tacitus emphasizes the ruthlessness that had emerged under the new political system.

 

It is this use of magic in the political realm of the Roman Empire that I hope to explore more fully in my paper. However, the question of what could be considered magic (especially when distinguishing it from religion), or what defines political is a task undertaken by many, most of whom have presented different results, given that both ancient and modern scholars see “magic [as] largely a rhetorical category rather than an analytical one” (Kevin Henry Crow, 339). In the case of Tacitus’ account, both categories are clearly determined. On the one hand the actors are primarily concerned with the preservation of their offices and the powers associated with them. Tiberius is visibly concerned with threats to his position as emperor while Piso can either be seen to act under Tiberius’ instructions, out of his own aspirations for power. Cassius Dio, who provides a similar version of Germanicus’ death in his Roman History, also places particular emphasis on the political threat of Germanicus’ rise to the authority of his adoptive father (Cass. Dio. Rom. Hist.57.19). In the case of magic, Tacitus (and Dio for that matter) goes about clearly outlining the means which caused Germanicus’ death:

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Long Post: The Problem(s) of Nestor’s Cup Expanded

In my paper, I hope to examine the interface between magic and writing in early Greek curses (c. 8th-6th centuries BCE). It has been suggested that the mass amount of curse tablets that have been found throughout the Greek and Roman worlds stem from a far earlier oral tradition of magic (Eidinow 141; Faraone “Nestor’s Cup” 82-83). Literary evidence, such as Aeschylus’ Eumenides along with the Greek Magical Papyri both point to the oral tradition (Eidinow 141). In this way, my goal for this project is to examine what we know about this early period of written magic in order to explore the reasons behind why there might have been a shift from an oral tradition to a written one.

Our earliest forms of written magic come in a few extant examples of what are called ‘conditional curses’ (Eidinow 141). ‘Conditional curses’ “are intended to discourage those who are planning to do a crime” (Eidinow 140) often by stating that something (bad) will happen if the person reading does something that the curser does not want them to do (e.g. “if you do X, then X”).

Possibly the earliest example of these conditional curses, as well as of Greek writing in general, is the so-called ‘Nestor’s Cup’ (Faraone “Nestor’s Cup” 77). In 1954 during excavations of the late eighth century BCE Euboean colony of Pithekoussai, fragments of an unassuming proto-Corinthian cup with a three-line inscription were found in the grave of a cremated youth (Faraone “Nestor’s Cup”  77).

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Challenges with Homeric sources – Jacob

For my paper I’m trying to find a way to use later literary sources, in particular versions of the Medea myth up to and including Euripides’ play, in order to find or create a useful framework for looking at magic in Homeric sources. Unsurprisingly, those earlier sources are by far the more problematic to deal with. Medea is unambiguous in treating the magic employed by said witch as harmful, evil and unnatural. In contrast, both the Iliad and the Odyssey contain actions that could be interpreted as magic, but it’s much less clear whether the characters in the works consider them as such.

Before even considering the specifics of the events in these works, I think it’s important to note that they are the result of an oral tradition, and could be representative of an earlier form of Greek culture, adapted to an audience contemporary to its recording in literary form, or the compilation of a series of poems gathered from other cultures; in all likelihood there are elements of all of these, making any analysis a matter of educated guesses and deductive reasoning rather than based on unassailable facts or truths.

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Table Talk on the Evil Eye

The topic of my research paper is on the phenomenon of the Evil Eye. The most useful source that I have come across in my research is from Plutarch’s Moralia, written in the late first century CE. More specifically, the passage that I am using comes from book eight, Table Talk. Table Talk is an account portraying several dinner conversations among a group of wise men. The seventh question that is presented to the group is devoted to the topic “concerning those who are said to cast an Evil Eye”. This passage is the fullest discussion from antiquity on the Evil Eye that I have found so far. It covers a broad range of the Evil Eye’s features, how it works and measures that are taken to avert it.

Plutarch’s discussion brings up several key aspects that are associated with the Evil Eye. This includes that children are the most vulnerable to its power, casters can be either intentional or unintentional; that envy is the source of its power, and amulets can be used to avert its gaze. These are fairly standard features that I have come across in other sources I have found. Aspects that were new to my research is that people could cast Evil Eye on themselves, fathers were at a huge risk of casting it upon their babies, and that someone in an envious state can cast the Evil Eye upon anyone. These are just some of the Evil Eye features that come from Plutarch.

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Suetonius’ Life of Caligula

Ancient historians are, as a whole, problematic. Their methods of recording history differ completely from the approach of modern historians, favouring shock value and the advancement of their desired narrative over accuracy and attempts to write an impartial account. One historian who is a perfect example of this is Suetonius. In his Life of Caligula he is so obviously following a story line instead the facts, and even more problematic is how he switches the story half way through the account. In book ten he is described as a well liked and self controlled boy to being a monster who delights in cruelty. This shift is so huge that he even states that he will no longer be discussing Caligula the emperor, but instead Caligula the monster. While the idea of a person changing their personality over time is not a ridiculous notion, the way that it is written by Suetonius suggests that this new part of the narrative was just added in when the general populace’s opinions changed. Until books eleven and twelve Caligula is seen positively, these two sections are slid in and their negative accounts are ultimately ignored until book twenty two when the tone of the text shifts so dramatically. The dramatic alteration in perspective also occurs with Tiberius, who at first is seen as a monster but later not quite as terrible. The only imperial family member who is consistently written one way is Germanicus, and his early death can be thanked for this.

The most dramatic contradictions Suetonius writes are all on topics that are meant to shock the reader or colour his view sharply on Caligula. His statement that Piso was condemned to death by the senate is false, as he killed himself before the trial was over. He was said to be so loved by the army that the mere sight of him would calm them, later Suetonius denies any kind of favour from them. Certain restrictions were placed on sex workers under his reign, yet he is said to have committed incest with one of his sisters and prostituted the others. Firstly Suetonius claims that Caligula is a generous emperor but later says that he left the people to starve. He condemns informers then rewards them. First he is handsome, then he is not. Contradiction after contradiction pile up creating not just an inaccurate account but one with a disjointed stance on the subject matter, that being Caligula.

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Magic & the Law: Apuleius’ Apology

In my paper I am researching legal cases containing accusations of magic in the Roman Imperial period. One of the sources I am looking at is Apuleius’ Apology. When looking at this source I am focusing on the question: how is it that this situation could come about and what does that imply about magic and the law during the Imperial period?

As we discussed in class, Apuleius finds himself put on trial with accusations of magic. He is accused of using love magic to seduce his wife Pudentilla into marrying him. Her father-in-law and rest of her family had wanted to keep her fortune within their family and thus are upset by the turnout of events and have taken him to court with these accusations. We don’t actually know the outcome of the trial, but his speech is so convincing, by highlighting the absurdity of the charges, that most scholars agree that he must have been acquitted.

This source is important because it is the only surviving example of a speech from a magic trial in the ancient world. Thus it is valuable in providing us with an example of both accusations of magic and the way in which someone could possibly go about defending themselves against these charges. It contains important aspects of social history and the way in which magic was viewed and could be used as accusations in a legal trial.

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Nestor’s Cup: Curse or Joke?

It has been suggested that the mass amount of curse tablets found throughout the Greek and Roman worlds stem from a far earlier oral tradition of magic (Eidinow 141; Faraone 82-83). Literary evidence, such as Aeschylus’ Eumenides and the Greek Magical Papyri, point to this oral tradition. Our earliest curse tablets for binding spells appear in Selinous, Sicily in either the late sixth or early fifth century BCE. However, earlier than this we have a few extant examples of written magic in the form of what are called ‘conditional curses’ (Eidinow 141).

‘Conditional curses’ “are intended to discourage those who are planning to do a crime” (Eidinow 140) often by stating that something (bad) will happen to the reader if they do something that the curser does not want them to do (e.g. “if you do X, then X”).

Possibly the earliest example of these conditional curses, as well as of Greek writing in general, is the so-called ‘Nestor’s Cup’ (Faraone 77). In 1954 during excavations of the late eighth century BCE necropolis in the Euboean colony of Pithekoussai, fragments of an unassuming proto-Corinthian cup with a three-line inscription were found in the grave of a cremated youth (Faraone  77).

This short verse is usually reconstructed as:

Νέστορός : ε[ίμ]ι : εὔποτ[ον] : ποτέριον :
hός δ’ άν τοδε πίεσι : ποτερί[ο] : αυτίκα κενον
hίμερος hαιρέσει : καλλιστε[φά]νου Ἀφροδίτες.

I am the cup of Nestor, good for drinking / Whoever drinks from this cup, desire for beautifully / crowned Aphrodite will seize him instantly (Faraone 78)

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