Prayer to Vesta

"The Vestal" by Frederic Leighton (1883)

Lately I have had a heightened sense of awareness of Vesta – so much so that I have bought a statue of her (though of the Hellenic Hestia in point of fact) for my household shrine. As I cannot keep her fire burning continually in my home, it is my hope that her statue facilitates her continual presence in some way. For Vesta is the great protecting deity; this is why ancient Romans were so concerned to keep her sacred flame alive and attended by the most important of all Roman priestesses – the Vestal Virgins.

“The Vestals were clearly set apart from the other priestly groups. Six priestesses, chosen in childhood, they lived in a special house next to the temple of Vesta. They had all kinds of privileges … they were responsible for tending the sacred fire, on the sacred hearth of their temple; they guarded their storehouse (penus) and they ritually cleaned it out and expelled the dirt … There is an obvious parallel between Vesta, the hearth of the city, and the hearths of individual families – the priestesses of the state apparently representing the women of the household …     

Buddhist Tattoos

Thai Buddhist monk receiving a sak yant tattoo
Source: peaceloveandtea.tumblr.com

Given the popularity of my earlier posts on tattoos and my familiarity with Buddhism I thought I would do a post on Buddhist tattoos. I note that many devout Buddhists, especially Theravada Buddhists in south and southeast Asia (who make up nearly 40% of the Buddhist population worldwide), may be offended by certain kinds of Buddhist tattoos, so it may be an idea to get one in a place that is easily covered by clothing. Tattoos depicting the Buddha himself are the most likely to offend, as are tattoos below the waist, especially those near the foot. Western tourists sporting Buddhist tattoos in Sri Lanka have even been deported and in 2011 the Thai Ministry of Culture instigated a crack down on Thai tattoo parlours so to prevent Western tourists receiving Buddhist tattoos, and thereby (in the eyes of some) trivialising Buddhist iconography, by (supposedly) reducing sacred images to mere fashion statements. While I don't doubt there are people out there who have chosen Buddhist designs for essentially frivolous reasons, I do think those who are offended by Buddhist tattoos on Westerners may be underestimating the reverence many Westerners have for Buddhism; as well as misunderstanding Western attitudes to tattoos in general. I feel sure that many Westerners who get such tattoos, even those who don't fully appreciate their provenance, are trying to tap into and comprehend the sacred, as well as Buddhist teachings more generally.

Jupiter – Lord of Heaven

"Jupiter and Mercury reveal themselves" by Santi (1798)

Jupiter is without doubt one of the greatest of Gods. Essentially, he is the numen (divine spirit) of the sky, of weather, of thunder, lightning, and of rain. As the God of rain, he is inevitably also a major God of agriculture, if not of life itself (for rain is fundamental for human prosperity), and so from the start the Romans held him in especially high esteem and looked to this powerful God for divine protection. Thus, Jupiter sits at the apex of the Roman pantheon and was worshipped as one of the major protecting Gods of ancient Rome and her empire. The ancient epithets of Jupiter are especially revealing and may help us to understand both his divine essence and his importance. Some of the most common include:

• Iuppiter Capitolinus (of the Capitoline hill, one of the holy triad which protected Rome and her empire)
• Iuppiter Custos (guardian)
• Iuppiter Elicius (sender of rain)
• Iuppiter Fulgur (of lightning)
• Iuppiter Libertas (of liberty/freedom)
• Iuppiter Lucetius (light bringer)
• Iuppiter Optimus Maximus (best and greatest)
• Iuppiter Victor (victorious)
• Iuppiter Tonans (thunderer)

Voluptuous Venus

There are dozens, if not hundreds, of images of Venus which have survived from ancient times. Many of them are curvaceous, in fact some ancient Roman Venus' are even a little plump, and there are many that are slim, but they are never too skinny, for how could Venus look as if she starves herself when she is a Goddess of life and fertility? Neither have I seen any depictions of Venus as obese. Likewise, for most artists since the renaissance Venus has been celebrated as looking like a woman with a healthy body, neither skeletal nor grotesquely overweight. Here follows a celebration of the many portrayals of Venus over the centuries.

Roman Era Venus'

Fresco of Venus from Pompeii (1st century CE)

Celestial Venus (circa 2nd-3rd century CE), Bronze, 25cm

Mosaic depicting Venus from Tunisia (circa 3rd century CE)

Ancient Germanic Tattoos and Cannabis Use

Comic book illustration by Kresse (1953)

I am reading the fifth book in the Warrior of Rome series by Harry Sidebottom, called The Wolves of the North. As well as being a novelist, Sidebottom is a Fellow and Tutor in Ancient History at the University of Oxford. His intimacy with ancient history means that he is often able to bring the ancient world to life, and what I have been reading about recently is particularly intriguing. He is describing the Heruli – an ancient Germanic tribe who are depicted as, inter alia, tattooed inhalers of cannabis. How much truth is there likely to be in this portrayal? Well, it seems to be quite feasible. 

Describing the Heruli ("utterly abandoned rascals")

Briefly put, the Heruli were one of a number of Germanic tribes who became a problem for Rome from the 3rd century onwards. Originally from Scandinavia, by the mid 3rd century they were living in the general area of modern day Ukraine. From there they spread themselves in a number of directions, sometimes successfully and sometimes not.

Odin – God of the Fearless

"Winter" by Wyeth (1909)

Most of what we know about Odin, and other Germanic Gods, comes from Icelandic manuscripts written roughly 200 years or more after Iceland formally adopted Christianity (though much of this material appears to copy works written hundreds of years earlier). Perhaps one of best descriptions of Odin comes from the Hyndluljod:

“Let's ask the Host-father [Odin] to sit in good cheer; he grants and gives out gold to the worthy ... He gives victory to some, to some wealth, eloquence to many, and sense to men; a fair wind he gives to sailors, and fine words to skalds; he gives manliness to many a fighter.”

Another of the Icelandic poems, the Havamal, is said to record the words of Odin. From this, perhaps the most haunting passage is the following:

“Wounded I hung on a wind-swept tree. For nine long nights, pierced by a spear, pledged to Odin. Offered, myself to myself. The wisest know not from whence spring the roots of that ancient tree. They gave me no bread, they gave me no mead, I looked down; with a loud cry, I took up runes; from that tree I fell.”

This is a tale of shamanism that hints at a means of acquiring sacred knowledge that has been lost but can be found. On a purely functional level it also establishes Odin as the father of the written word, and thereby the protector of knowledge. Thus he is known as the Fjölnir (wise one, all-knowing or concealer), Fjölsviðr (very wise one) and Saðr (truthful).* Another story that emphasises this aspect of Odin is told in the Prose Edda:

Roman Beliefs Regarding the Afterlife

"Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus"
by Waterhouse (1900)

February is the month when ancient Romans traditionally honoured their dead, during the festival of the Parentalia, and this got me thinking about Roman attitudes to the afterlife. Roman polytheism does not provide clear-cut answers about the much pondered question of whether or not there is life after death:

“Traditional Pagan culture offered all kinds of views of death and the after-life: ranging from a terrifying series of punishment for those who had sinned in this life, through a more or less pleasant state of being that followed but was secondary to this life, to uncertainty or denial that that any form of after-life was possible (or knowable) … the official state cult did not particularly emphasise the fate of the individual after death, or urge a particular view of the after-life [Beard et al, Religions of Rome 1 at 289-290].”

Traditional views – realms of the dead

The conventional view of life after death in ancient Rome conceived of an afterlife wherein the soul separated from the body and then typically lived on in the underworld kingdom of Orcus (Dis Pater/Pluto). Sometimes the spirits of the dead might return to the world of the living, as either Manes (protecting spirits of the dead) or Lemures (malevolent spirits of the dead). Over time, Roman ideas about the afterlife came to be strongly influenced by Hellenic visions, which were themselves not always uniform. The features most commonly ascribed to the afterlife included descriptions of Hades being surrounded by various rivers, including the rivers Styx, Acheron and Lethe. From this latter river the dead drank the waters so to forget their former lives. Meanwhile they crossed the river Styx by paying Charon the ferryman – thus the dead customarily had a coin placed in their mouths or their hands lest their souls be stranded in limbo. Upon crossing to the other side of the river they were confronted by Cerberus, the three-headed dog, who prevented unauthorised souls from entering or leaving Hades. Once within Hades, the earthly behaviour of the dead was judged by Minos, Rhadamanthys and Aecus, to determine their fate in the next life. War heroes went to the paradisiacal Elysium, as did, by some accounts, the virtuous. Those guilty of hubris or other behaviour deemed particularly offensive to the Gods might find themselves in Tartarus: a place of divine punishment apparently inhabited by only the most unfortunate of criminals. Meanwhile most of the dead were thought to dwell on in the Asphodel fields, which was neither particularly pleasant nor unpleasant.

Alma-Tadema - Roman Visions

Victorian Britain (1837-1901) was more than a little obsessed with the Roman era - from their Queen, who was named after the Roman Goddess of Victory, to the expanding British empire which bore similarities to that of Rome's, to the copious number of Romanesque artworks produced in the United Kingdom during that time. Of all the painters dealing with Roman themes none was more popular than Dutch-born Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836-1912) - a prolific painter who specialised in depicting (somewhat romanticised) scenes of everyday life in the classical world. While some of his work seems a little kitsch these days, some of it is wonderfully evocative and brings the ancient world to life. In homage to this true Romanophile, here follows some of my favourite Roman-themed works by Alma-Tadema.

Click on image to enlarge

The decorative marble floor and brightly painted wall in the image below is typical of ancient Roman architecture - but only the wealthy (and their slaves) lived in homes like this. In Rome itself most people lived in apartments. As we can see the sea in the background, Alma-Tadema perhaps intended to depict a villa in a wealthy seaside town, such as Herculaneum (destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE).

"An Oleander" (1882)

Roman Calendar

"Sacrifice to Jupiter" by Noel Coypel (17th century)

Living in Sydney, where the seasonal calendar is the reverse of that of Rome’s (so that when it is winter in Rome it is summer in Sydney and vice versa), I have tended to not pay too much attention to the traditional polytheistic calendar of ancient Rome – for so many ancient celebrations were related to the seasonal cycles of Europe. I am also mindful of the fact that many ancient festivals celebrated the founding of temples that have long since fallen into ruin – if the temple no longer exists then celebrating its coming into being seems somewhat incongruous.  And then there is the fact that I don’t know too many Roman oriented polytheists – so with whom do I celebrate these festivals? 

Turning aside from contemporary concerns, I note that even when Rome’s empire was at her height there was no such thing as a universal Roman calendar of religious festivals, for each region of the empire established their own calendar, which did not necessarily mirror the calendar in Rome (Scheid, An Introduction to Roman Religion at 41-42). Furthermore, the religious calendars varied from century to century, so not only were they not uniform from region to region, they were not uniform from century to century either.