Citation with stable link: Philip A. Harland, 'Syrians: Apuleius on “effeminate” priests of Atargatis (late second century CE),' Ethnic Relations and Migration in the Ancient World, last modified May 29, 2024, https://philipharland.com/Blog/?p=18765.
Ancient authors: Apuleius of Madaura (mid-late second century CE), Metamorphoses, or The Golden Ass 8.23-9.10 (link; link to Latin).
Comments: Ancient novelistic literature, although expressly fictional, provides us with valuable access into commonly shared perceptions of and stereotypes about particular peoples. In fact, the explicitly fictional nature of the stories may give us better access into the imaginings of such authors about other peoples, since they are free to go whatever way they want to with their characterizations. Overall, Apuleius of Madaura’s (in North Africa) tale is about a man named Lucius who is transformed into a pack-ass by way of the misapplication of Magian skill and potions (Pamphile is the expert: 3.18-29). As an ass and therefore slave, the main character encounters a variety of peoples in his journey through Greece with his different owners, ending with his initiation into the foreign mysteries of Isis and the return to humanity.
In the episode below, Lucius the ass is bought by Philebus, the head of a troop of devotees of the Syrian Mother goddess, Atargatis. Apuleius goes into considerable detail about the supposed effeminate activities of these so-called “deviants” (cinaedi), with sexual connotations, as well as their fraudulent attempts to raise money along the way. Gender-bending is of course central. The result is a racy caricature of Syrians from the east (frequently considered “effeminate” and servile by many Greeks and Romans) by way of devotees of their most famous native deity. For a quite different, insider perspective on the goddess Atargatis and her devotees, see the Syrian Goddess attributed to Lucian of Samosata in Syria (link).
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[Donkey auctioned to a “deviant”/ cinaedus of the Syrian goddess]
(8.23-25) Having fled from that detestable halt, leaving the residents in the depths of mourning, we travelled on again, and marching all day over the plain arrived, exhausted, at a well-known populous city. The herdsmen decided to make their home and permanent residence there, as seeming to offer a safe retreat far from anyone who might search for them, and also attracted by the abundance of rich and plentiful food. After three days rest to restore the animals, and render us more saleable, we were taken off to market. In a loud voice the auctioneer announced our prices, but while the horses and other asses were sold to some wealthy man I alone remained, an unsold item, scorned in disgust. I was angered by now at being pawed by buyers trying to guess my age from my teeth, so when a man with foul-smelling hands kept scraping my gums again and again with his fetid fingers, I grabbed his hand with my teeth and crushed it to a pulp. This rid those standing by of any desire to buy a creature so ferocious, so the auctioneer, whose voice was cracked and hoarse, began to utter witticisms at my expense. ‘How long must this old nag stand here without a sale? Poor old thing, he’s crippled by worn-out hooves, deformed from pain, and totally lazy except when he’s being vicious. His skin’s fit for nothing but making a garbage sieve. So I’ll give him away to any man who won’t mind wasting fodder.’
With such remarks the auctioneer had the crowd roaring with laughter. But cruel and savage Fortune, whom my flight across the land had not eluded, un-placated by my earlier sufferings, turned her blind gaze once more in my direction, and amazingly put me in the way of the very purchaser to add to my harsh misfortunes.
Learn what he was: a deviant (cinaedus) [with sexual and gender implications], and an old one at that, bald on top but with ringlets of grey hair circling his scalp, the scum of society, one of the dregs who frequent the city streets sounding their cymbals and castanets, dragging the Syrian great goddess round with them, using her to beg. He was more than eager to buy me, and asked where I came from. ‘Oh, he’s a fine Cappadocian, a strong little chap,’ the auctioneer cried. And how many years had I? ‘Well,’ the auctioneer replied, ‘the astrologer (mathematicus) who did his chart said this year he was five, but no doubt as a citizen who fills in his census returns he can tell you the answer better than I. It’s a crime of course to sell you a Roman citizen as a slave, that’s the Cornelian law, still why not buy yourself this fine and useful piece of property, who’ll give you satisfaction at home and abroad?’
This odious buyer kept on asking one question after another, and finally asked anxiously how docile I might be. The auctioneer said, ‘This is no ass you see before you, it’s a leader of the flock, never a biter or kicker, but gentle as a lamb for any task. You’d think that inside this ass’s hide lived the mildest of human-beings. It’s not hard to prove either: just stick your face between his back legs, and you’ll easily demonstrate his truly passive nature.’
The auctioneer was having fun at the deviant’s expense, but the latter got the point of the joke and swore with feigned indignation: ‘You lunatic, you deaf and dumb corpse of an auctioneer! I call on the all-powerful, the all-creating goddess, Syrian Atagartis; and holy Sabazios too, and Ma of Commagene; on Idaean mother Cybele and her consort Attis; on lady Astarte and her consort Adonis; may they strike you blind as well for tormenting me with your scurrilous jests. Do you think I’d entrust the goddess, you fool, to some savage creature that might tumble her sacred image from its back, and be forced to run round like a servant-girl, hair streaming in the wind, to find a doctor for my goddess as she lay there on the ground?’
Hearing that, it crossed my mind to start leaping around like mad, so he’d give up the whole idea of buying me when he saw how savage I was when roused. But that eager purchaser thwarted my scheme, by paying a price on the nail that my owner, of course, being doubtless thoroughly sick and tired of me, swiftly and joyfully accepted: less than a single gold piece, seventeen denarii. He handed me over at once with the halter, made of common broom, to this Philebus for such was the name of the man who was my new owner.
[Journeys with the wandering “deviants” / “girls” and characterizations of their effeminate lifestyle]
(8.26-28) Taking possession of his new follower, he dragged me home with him, and reaching the doorway cried: ‘Look what a pretty slave I’ve bought you, girls!’ The ‘girls’ were his troop of deviants who began dancing in delight, raising a dissonant clamour with tuneless, shrill, effeminate cries, thinking no doubt his purchase was a slave-boy ready to do them service. But on seeing me, no doe replacing a sacrificial virgin, but an ass instead of a boy, they turned up their noses, and made caustic remarks to their leader. ‘Here’s no slave,’ one cried, ‘but a husband of your own.’ And ‘Oh,’ called another, ‘don’t swallow that little morsel all by yourself, give your little doves the occasional bite.’ Then amidst the banter they tied me to the manger.
Now in that house was a plump youth, a fine flute-player, bought in the slave-market with the funds from their begging-plate, who circled around playing his pipes when they lead the goddess around, but at home played the part of concubine, sharing himself around. Seeing me now he smilingly set a heap of fodder before me, and said with delight: ‘At last you’re here to take turns at this wretched work. Live to please our masters, and give my weary muscles a rest.’ On hearing this I began to wonder what new difficulties were in store.
Next day they prepared to do their rounds, dressing in bright array, beautifying their faces un-beautifully, daubing their cheeks with rouge, and highlighting their eyes. Off they went, in turbans and saffron robes, all fine linen and silk, some in white tunics woven with purple designs and gathered up in a girdle, and with yellow shoes on their feet. The goddess they wrapped in a silken cloak and set her on my back, while they, arms bare to the shoulder, waving frightful swords and axes, leapt around and chanted, in a frenzied dance to the stirring wail of the flute.
[Divination and self-whipping]
Passing a few small hamlets in our wanderings, we came to a rich landowner’s country house. On reaching the gate, they rushed in wildly, filling the place with tuneless cries, heads forward, rotating their necks in endless circling motions, their long pendulous hair swinging around them, now and then wounding their flesh savagely with their teeth, and at the climax slashing their arms with the double-edged knives they carried. One in their midst began to rave more ecstatically than the rest, heaving breaths from deep in his chest, simulating a fit of divine madness, as if filled with inspiration from some god, though surely the presence of a deity should make men nobler than themselves, not disorder them or make them lose their senses. But behold the benefit he won from these ‘heavenly powers’. Raving like a prophet, he began to chastise himself with a concocted tale of some crime of his against the law of sacred obligation (fas sanctae religionis), and demanded self-punishment for his guilt. Then he snatched up the whip, the insignia of those emasculated creatures, with its long tufted strands of twisted sheep’s hide strung with those animals’ knuckle bones, and scourged himself savagely with strokes of its knotted lash, showing amazing fortitude given the pain from his gashes. The ground grew slippery with blood from the flashing blades and flailing whips, and I grew very uneasy at this gory flood from the countless wounds in the event that this Syrian goddess might have a stomach for ass’s blood, yearning for it as some humans do for ass’s milk.
[Collecting money]
But when they were finally tired of the laceration, or at least were sated, they ceased their antics and took up a collection, people vying for the pleasure of dropping copper coins, and even silver, into the ample folds of their robes. They were also given a fat jar of wine, with milk and cheese, cornmeal and flour, and even a feed of barley for me, the goddess’ beast of burden. They gathered it greedily, piled it into sacks presciently acquired to carry the takings, and heaped them on my back. Now weighed down by a double load, I was a walking shrine and a storage-chest in one.
[Festive banquet and supposed sexual deviance]
(8.29-31) In this manner they roamed about plundering the whole region. One day, delighted with a larger than usual take in some hill-town, they decided on a festive banquet. On the back of a fictitious prophecy, they extracted a farmer’s fattest ram for sacrifice, needing they said to appease the goddess’ hunger. Once the preparations were done, they paid a visit to the bath-house, returning afterwards with a guest, a strapping countryman, with strong limbs and thighs. They’d barely tasted their salad starters before those vile creatures were driven by their unspeakable urges to commit the vilest acts of perverse lust. They soon had the young man naked on his back, and crowding round him forced their foul caresses on him. My eyes could not long endure such an outrage. I tried to call out: ‘No, no. Help, citizens, help!’ but all that emerged was ‘O, O!’ with all the rest of the syllables lost; a fine and clear and strong and ass-like cry, but sadly and inopportunely timed. For a crowd of youths from a neighbouring village, out looking for an ass stolen in the night, who were searching all the stables thoroughly, heard me braying from the house, and assumed their stolen property was hidden somewhere there. Determined to win their goods back on the spot, they burst in, all together, to catch my masters performing their vile abominations. In a moment they roused the neighbours and shouted to everyone to come and witness the wretched scene, pouring ridicule on the priests (sacerdotes) with caustic praise for their chastity.
[Punishing the donkey and arriving at a new town]
Confounded by this scandal, the news of which spread swiftly from mouth to mouth, and made them justly despised and detested in the eyes of all, they gathered their belongings, and at midnight we stealthily left town. Before sunrise we’d completed the best part of a day’s journey, and by the time it was fully light had reached a deserted wilderness. There after holding a long discussion among themselves, they prepared themselves for my punishment. They dismounted the goddess from my back, and set her on the ground, then stripped me of all the tackle and tied me to an oak. Then they flogged me with one of those whips of theirs strung with sheep-bones, until I was well-nigh dead. One of them threatened to hamstring me with his axe, because I had brayed so offensively at his pretence of snow-white virtue, while the rest voted to keep me alive, not out of consideration for me, but for the goddess’ statue lying there on the ground. So they burdened me again with the baggage, beating me with the flat of their swords, until we reached the next large town. There, one of the notables, a conscientious man (religiosus) with a particular reverence for that goddess, roused by the cymbals tinkling, the drums beating and the plaintive music of the Phrygian flute, came running out to meet us. Receiving the Goddess with the hospitality of a devotee, he settled us within the walls of his extensive mansion, and strove to win the Goddess’ favour with deep reverence and rich sacrifice. . . . [omitted episodes with devotees of the Syrian goddess only in the background].
[Further fraudulent divination by the devotees of the Syrian goddess, and sale of the donkey to new owners]
(9.8-10) The deviants stayed a few days, fattening themselves at public expense. Replete with the proceeds of their fortune-telling, those most holy of priests devised a novel variant on such ventures. They composed an all-purpose prophecy that would fit every situation, and fool the host of people who came to consult them on every sort of matter. The prophecy ran like this: ‘Yoked together, those oxen plough the soil: / to bring rich seed to future birth, they toil.’
So, for example, if they chanced to be consulted on the suitability of a particular marriage, they’d say the oracle was favourable, and the ‘yoke’ of marriage would nurture ‘seeds’ of children. If instead it was a question of property, then’ oxen’, ‘yokes’, and flourishing fields of ‘seed’ were all involved. If someone sought divine guidance regarding a journey, they’d imply the tamest four-footed beasts were all but ‘yoked together’, and ‘rich seed’ foretold a profitable trip. If a man was off to fight a battle, or chase a band of thieves, and wanted to know if the outcome would be good, they’d argue that victory was guaranteed by that same blessed prophecy: the enemies’ necks would go under the ‘yoke’, while a ‘rich’ and plentiful heap of spoils would be the clear result.
[Devotees of the goddess arrested for their fraudulent activities]
With this cunning method of divination they raked in a pile of cash. But they soon grew weary, tired of the endless requests for oracles, and set out on the road again. The journey was even worse than that previous one by night, for the way was marked by waterlogged ditches, in places pitted with stagnant pools, in others thick with slippery mud. My legs were aching from the constant stumbles and incessant sliding, and exhausted I could barely reach the level track at last, when suddenly we were overtaken by a body of armed men.
Curbing their horses’ headlong gallop with great difficulty, they rounded savagely on Philebus and his troop, and grasping them by the throats, denouncing them as vile temple-robbers, began to pummel them with their fists. Then handcuffing them all they demanded in no uncertain terms that they hand over the golden goblet, the spoil of their crime, which they’d secretly stolen from the shrine of the Mother of the gods while pretending to hold arcane ceremonies, and then, as though they thought they could evade all punishment for the outrage by leaving silently, sneaking out of the city in the half-light of dawn. One of them went so far as to lean over my back and, rummaging around in the robes of the goddess I was bearing, found the golden goblet and waved it around for all to see. Yet even faced with this accusation of an impious crime those impure creatures were neither frightened nor dismayed, but made unfortunate jokes and laughed it off: ‘The perversity and injustice of it all! How often the innocent are accused of crime! Simply for one little cup, which the Mother of gods gave her sister, the goddess of Syria, as a token of friendship, we her sacred high priests are labelled criminals, and exposed to danger.’
This and similar sorts of nonsense they babbled, but all in vain, since they were led back to town, clapped in chains, and locked in jail, while the goblet and the image of the goddess I was carrying were sent to the temple’s treasury and re-consecrated.
[Donkey sold again]
Next day I was taken out and sold again at auction. A miller and baker from a nearby hill-town bought me, for seven sestertii more than Philebus paid, swiftly loaded me with the heavy sacks of grain he’d purchased, and led me by a steep and perilous track, full of tangled roots and jagged stones, to the mill and bake-house that he ran. . . [omitted subsequent narrative].
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Source of translation: A.S. Kline (© 2013), slightly adapted (link).