The Temples and Gods of Athens.
181. Certain Factors in Athenian Religion.—We have seen the Athenians
in their business and in their pleasure, at their courts, their
assemblies, their military musters, and on their peaceful farms; yet
one great side of Athenian life has been almost ignored—the religious
side. A “Day in Athens” spent without taking account of the gods of
the city and their temples would be a day spent with almost half-closed
eyes.[*]
[*] No attempt is made in this discussion to enumerate the various gods
and demigods of the conventional mythology, their regular attributes,
etc. It is assumed the average history or manual of mythology gives
sufficient information.
It is far easier to learn how the Athenians arrange their houses than
how the average man among them adjusts his attitude toward the gods.
While any searching examination of the fundamentals of Greek cultus and
religion is here impossible, two or three facts must, nevertheless, be
kept in mind, if we are to understand even the OUTWARD side of this
Greek religion which is everywhere in evidence about us.
First of all we observe that the Greek religion is a religion of purely
natural growth. No prophet has initiated it, or claimed a new
revelation to supplement the older views. It has come from primitive
times without a visible break even down to the Athens of Plato. This
explains at once why so many time-honored stories of the Olympic
deities are very gross, and why the gods seem to give countenance to
moral views which the best public opinion has long since called
scandalous and criminal. The religion of Athens, in other words, may
justly claim to be judged by its best, not by its worst; by the
morality of Socrates, not of Homer.
Secondly, this religion is not a church, nor a belief, but is part of
the government. Every Athenian is born into accepting the fact that
Athena Polias is the divine warder of the city, as much as he is born
into accepting the fact that it is his duty to obey the strategi in
battle. To repudiate the gods of Athens, _e.g._ in favor of those of
Egypt, is as much iniquity as to join forces against the Athenians if
they are at war with Egypt;—the thing is sheer treason, and almost
unthinkable. For countless generations the Athenians have worshipped
the “Ancestral Gods.” They are proud of them, familiar with them; the
gods have participated in all the prosperity of the city. Athena is as
much a part of Attica as gray Hymettus or white-crowned Pentelicus; and
the very fact that comedians, like Aristophanes, make good-natured fun
of the divinities indicates that “they are members of the family.”
Thirdly, notice that this religion is one mainly of outward reverence
and ceremony. There is no “Athenian church”; nobody has drawn up an
“Attic creed”—“I believe in Athena, the City Warder, and in Demeter,
the Earth Mother, and in Zeus, the King of Heaven, etc.” Give outward
reverence, participate in the great public sacrifices, be careful in
all the minutiæ of private worship, refrain from obvious
blasphemies—you are then a sufficiently pious man. What you _believe_
is of very little consequence. Even if you privately believe there are
no gods at all, it harms no one, provided your outward conduct is pious
and moral.
182. What constitutes “Piety” in Athens.—Of course there have been
some famous prosecutions for “impiety.” Socrates was the most
conspicuous victim; but Socrates was a notable worshipper of the gods,
and certainly all the charges of his being an “atheist” broke down.
What he was actually attacked with was “corrupting the youth of
Athens,” _i.e._ giving the young men such warped ideas of their private
and public duties that they ceased to be moral and useful citizens.
But even Socrates was convicted only with difficulty[*]; a generation
has passed since his death. Were he on trial at present, a majority of
the jury would probably be with him.
[*] It might be added that if Socrates had adopted a really worldly
wise line of defense, he would probably have been acquitted, or
subjected merely to a mild pecuniary penalty.
The religion of Athens is something very elastic, and really every man
makes his own creed for himself, or—for paganism is almost never
dogmatic—accepts the outward cultus with everybody else, and speculates
at his leisure on the nature of the deity. The great bulk of the
uneducated are naturally content to accept the old stories and
superstitions with unthinking credulity. It is enough to know that one
must pray to Zeus for rain, and to Hermes for luck in a slippery
business bargain. There are a few philosophers who, along with
perfectly correct outward observance, teach privately that the old
Olympian system is a snare and folly. They pass around the daring word
which Xenophanes uttered as early as the sixth century B.C.:—
One God there is, greatest of gods and mortals,
Not like to man is he in mind or in body.
All of him sees, all of him thinks, and all of him harkens.
This, of course, is obvious pantheism, but it is easy to cover up all
kinds of pale monotheism or pantheism under vague reference to the
omnipotence of “Zeus.”
183. The Average Athenian’s Idea of the Gods.—The average intelligent
citizen probably has views midway between the stupid rabble and the
daring philosophers. To him the gods of Greece stand out in full
divinity, honored and worshipped because they are protectors of the
good, avengers of the evil, and guardians of the moral law. They
punish crime and reward virtue, though the punishment may tarry long.
They demand a pure heart and a holy mind of all that approach them, and
woe to him who wantonly defies their eternal laws. This is the
morality taught by the master tragedians, Æschylus and Sophocles, and
accepted by the best public opinion at Athens; for the insidious doubts
cast by Euripides upon the reality of any divine scheme of governance
have never struck home. The scandalous stories about the domestic
broils on Olympus, in which Homer indulges, only awaken good-natured
banter. It is no longer proper—as in Homeric days—to pride oneself on
one’s cleverness in perjury and common falsehood. Athenians do not
have twentieth century notions about the wickedness of lying, but
certain it is the gods do not approve thereof. In short, most of the
better class of Athenians are genuinely “religious”; nevertheless they
have too many things in this human world to interest them to spend
overmuch time in adjusting their personal concepts of the deity to any
system of theology.
184. Most Greeks without belief in Immortality.—Yet one thing we must
add. This Greek religious morality is built up without any clear belief
in a future life. Never has the average Hellene been able to form a
satisfactory conception of the soul’s existence, save dwelling within a
mortal body and under the glorious light of belovèd Helios. To Homer
the after life in Hades was merely the perpetuation of the shadows of
departed humanity, “strengthless shades” who live on the gloomy plains
of asphodel, feeding upon dear memories, and incapable of keen emotions
or any real mental or physical progress or action. Only a few great
sinners like Tantalus, doomed to eternal torture, or favored beings
like Menelaus, predestined to the “Blessed Isles,” are ordained to any
real immortality. As the centuries advanced, and the possibilities of
this terrestrial world grew ever keener, the hope of any future state
became ever more vague. The fear of a gloomy shadow life in Hades for
the most part disappeared, but that was only to confirm the belief that
death ends all things.
Where’er his course man tends,
Inevitable death impends,
And for the worst and for the best,
Is strewn the same dark couch of rest.[*]
[*] Milman, Translator.
So run the lines of a poet whose name is forgotten, but who spoke well
the thought of his countrymen.
True there has been a contradiction of this gloomy theory. The “Orphic
Mysteries,” those secret religious rites which have gained such a hold
in many parts of Greece, including Athens, probably hold out an earnest
promise to the “initiates” of a blessed state for them hereafter. The
doctrine of a real elysium for the good and a realm of torment for the
evil has been expounded by many sages. Pindar, the great bard of
Thebes, has set forth the doctrine in a glowing ode.[*] Socrates, if
we may trust the report Plato gives of him, has spent his last hours
ere drinking the hemlock, in adducing cogent, philosophic reasons for
the immortality of the soul. All this is true,—and it is also true
that these ideas have made no impression upon the general Greek
consciousness. They are accepted half-heartedly by a relatively few
exceptional thinkers. Men go through life and face death with no real
expectation of future reward or punishment, or of reunion with the dear
departed. If the gods are angry, you escape them at the grave; if the
gods are friendly, all they can give is wealth, health, honor, a hale
old age, and prosperity for your children. The instant after death the
righteous man and the robber are equal. This fundamental deduction
from the Greek religion must usually, therefore, be made—it is a
religion for _this world only_. Let us see what are its usual outward
operations.
[*] Quoted in _Readings in Ancient History_, vol. I, pp. 261-262, and
in many works in Greek literature.
185. The Multitude of Images of the Gods.—Gods are everywhere in
Athens. You cannot take the briefest walk without being reminded that
the world is full of deities. There is a “Herm”[*] by the main door of
every house, as well as a row of them across the Agora. At many of the
street crossings there are little shrines to Hecate; or statues of
Apollo Agyieus, the street guardian; or else a bay tree stands there, a
graceful reminder of this same god, to which it is sacred. In every
house there is the small altar whereon garlands and fruit offerings are
daily laid to Zeus Herkeios, and another altar to Hestia. On one or
both of these altars a little food and a little wine are cast at every
meal. All public meetings or court sessions open with sacrifice; in
short, to attempt any semi-important public or private act without
inviting the friendly attention of the deity is unthinkable. To a
well-bred Athenian this is second instinct; he considers it as
inevitable as the common courtesies of speech among gentlemen. Plato
sums up the current opinion well, “All men who have any decency, in the
attempting of matters great or small, always invoke divine aid.”[+]
[*] A stone post about shoulder high, surmounted by a bearded head.
Contrary to modern impression, the average Greek did not conceive of
Hermes as a beautiful youth. He was a grave, bearded man. The
youthful aspect came through the manipulation of the Hermes myths by
the master sculptors—_e.g._ Praxiteles.
[+] _Timæus_, p. 27 c.
186. Greek Superstition.—In many cases, naturally, piety runs off into
crass superstition. The gods, everybody knows, frequently make known
future events by various signs. He who can understand these signs will
be able to adjust his life accordingly and enjoy great prosperity.
Most educated men take a sensible view of “omens,” and do not let them
influence their conduct absurdly. Some, however, act otherwise. There
is, for instance, Laches, one of the greatest at Prodicus’s feast. He
lives in a realm of mingled hopes and fears, although he is wealthy and
well-educated.[*] He is all the time worried about dreams, and paying
out money to the sharp and wily “seer” (who counts him his best client)
for “interpretations.” If a weasel crosses his path he will not walk
onward until somebody else has gone before him, or until he has thrown
three stones across the road. He is all the time worrying about the
significance of sudden noises, meteors, thunder; especially he is
disturbed when he sees birds flying in groups or towards unlucky
quarters of the heavens.[+] Laches, however, is not merely
religious—although he is always asking “which god shall I invoke now?”
or “what are the omens for the success of this enterprise?” His own
associates mock him as being superstitious, and say they never trouble
themselves about omens save in real emergencies. Still it is “bad luck”
for any of them to stumble over a threshold, to meet a hare suddenly,
or especially to find a snake (the companion of the dead) hidden in the
house.
[*] See Theophratus’s character, “_The Superstitious Man_.”
[+] The birds of clearest omen were the great birds of prey—hawks,
“Apollo’s swift messengers,” and eagles, “the birds of Zeus.” It was a
good omen if the birds flew from left to right, a bad omen if in the
reverse direction.
187. Consulting Omens.—Laches’s friends, however, all regularly
consult the omens when they have any important enterprise on hand—a
voyage, a large business venture, a marriage treaty, etc. There are
several ways, not expensive; the interpreters are not priests, only
low-born fellows as a rule, whose fees are trifling. You can find out
about the future by casting meal upon the altar fire and noticing how
it is burned, by watching how chickens pick up consecrated grain,[*] by
observing how the sacrificial smoke curls upward, etc. The best way,
however, is to examine the entrails of the victim after a sacrifice.
Here everything depends on the shape, size, etc., of the various
organs, especially of the liver, bladder, spleen, and lungs, and really
expert judgment by an experienced and high-priced seer is desirable.
The man who is assured by a reliable seer, “the livers are large and in
fine color,” will go on his trading voyage with a confident heart.
[*] A very convenient way,—for it was a good sign if the chickens ate
eagerly and one could always get a fair omen by keeping the fowls
hungry a few hours ere “putting the question”!
188. The Great Oracles.—Assuredly there is a better way still to read
the future; at least so Greeks of earlier ages have believed. Go to one
of the great oracles, whereof that of Apollo at Delphi is the supreme,
but not the unique, example. Ask your question in set form from the
attendant priests, not failing to offer an elaborate sacrifice and to
bestow all the “gifts” (golden tripods, mixing bowls, shields, etc.)
your means will allow. Then (at Delphi) wait silent and awe-stricken
while the lady Pythia, habited as a young girl, takes her seat on a
tripod over a deep cleft in the rock, whence issues an intoxicating
vapor. She inhales the gas, sways to and fro in an ecstasy, and now,
duly “inspired,” answers in a somewhat wild manner the queries which
the priest will put in behalf of the supplicants. Her incoherent words
are very hard to understand, but the priest duly “interprets” them,
_i.e._ gives them to the suppliant in the form of hexameter verses.
Sometimes the meaning of these verses is perfectly clear. Very often
they are truly “Delphic,” with a most dubious meaning—as in that
oft-quoted instance, when the Pythia told Crœsus if he went to war with
Cyrus, “he would destroy a mighty monarchy,” and lo, he destroyed his
own!
Besides Delphi, there are numerous lesser oracles, each with its
distinctive method of “revelation.” But there is none, at least of
consequence, within Attica, while a journey to Delphi is a serious and
highly expensive undertaking. And as a matter of fact Delphi has
partially lost credit in Athens. In the great Persian War Delphi
unpatriotically “medized”—gave oracles friendly to Xerxes and utterly
discouraging to the patriot cause. Then after this conviction of false
prophesy, the oracle fell, for most of the time, into the hands of
Sparta, and was obviously very willing to “reveal” things only in the
Lacedæmonian interest. Hellenes generally and the Spartans in
particular have still much esteem for the utterances of the Pythia, but
Athenians are not now very partial to her. Soon will come the seizure
of Delphi by the Phœnicians and the still further discrediting of this
once great oracle.
189. Greek Sacrifices.—The two chief elements of Greek worship,
however, are not consideration of the future, but sacrificial and
prayer. Sacrifices in their simple form, as we have seen, take place
continually, before every routine act. They become more formal when
the proposed action is really important, or when the suppliant wishes
to give thanks for some boon, or, at rarer intervals, to desire
purification from some offense. There is no need of a priest for the
simpler sacrifices. The father of the family can pour out the
libation, can burn the food upon the altar, can utter the prayer for
all his house; but in the greater sacrifices a priest is desirable, not
as a sacred intermediary betwixt god and man, but as an expert to
advise the worshipper what are the competent rites, and to keep him
from ignorantly angering heaven by unhappy words and actions.[*]
[*] There were almost no hereditary priesthoods in Attica (outside the
Emolpidæ connected with the mystical cult of Eleusis). Almost anybody
of good character could qualify as a priest with due training, and
there was little of the sacrosanct about the usual priestly office.
Let us witness a sacrifice of this more formal kind, and while doing so
we can tread upon the spot we have seemed in a manner to shun during
our wanderings through Athens, the famous and holy Acropolis.
190. The Route to the Acropolis.—Phormion, son of Cresphontes, has
been to Arcadia, and won the pentathlon in some athletic contests held
at Mantinea. Although not equal to a triumph in the “four great
Panhellenic contests,” it was a most notable victory. Before setting
out he vowed a sheep to Athena the Virgin if he conquered. The goddess
was kind, and Phormion is very grateful. While the multitudes are
streaming out to the Gymnasia, the young athlete, brawny and handsome,
surrounded by an admiring coterie of friends and kinsmen, sets out for
the Acropolis.
Phormion’s home is in the “Ceramicus,” the so-called “potters’
quarter.” His walk takes him a little to the west of the Agora, and
close to the elegant temple of Hephæstos,[*] but past this and many
other fanes he hastens. It was not the fire god which gave him fair
glory at Mantinea. He goes onward until he is forced to make a detour
to the left, at the craggy, rough hill of Areopagus which rises before
him. Here, if time did not press, he might have tarried to pay
respectful reverence before a deep fissure cleft in the side of the
rock. In front of this fissure stands a little altar. All Phormion’s
company look away as they pass the spot, and they mutter together “Be
propitious, O Eumenides!” (literally, Well-minded Ones). For like true
Greeks they delight to call foul things with fair and propitious names;
and that awful fissure and altar are sacred to the Erinyes (Furies),
the horrible maidens, the trackers of guilt, the avengers of murder;
and above their cave, on these rude rocks, sits the august court of the
Aeropagus when it meets as a “tribunal of blood” to try cases of
homicide.
[*] This temple, now called the _Theseum_, is the only well preserved
ancient temple in modern Athens.
Phormion’s party quicken their steps and quit this spot of ill omen.
Then their sight is gladdened. The whole glorious Acropolis stands out
before them.
[Illustration: Sketch Map of the Acropolis of Athens]
191. The Acropolis of Athens.—Almost every Greek city has its own
formidable citadel, its own _acropolis_,—for “citadel” is really all
this word conveys. Corinth boasts of its “Acro-Corinthus,” Thebes of
its “Cadmeia,”—but _the_ Acropolis is in Athens. The later world will
care little for any other, and the later world will be right. The
Athenian stronghold has long ceased to be a fortress, though still it
rises steep and strong. It is now one vast temple compound, covered
with magnificent buildings. Whether considered as merely a natural
rock commanding a marvelous view, or as a consecrated museum of
sculpture and architecture, it deserves its immortality. We raise our
eyes to _the Rock_ as we approach it.
The Acropolis dominates the plain of Athens. All the city seems to
adjust itself to the base of its holy citadel. It lifts itself as
tawny limestone rock rising about 190 feet above the adjacent level of
the town.[*] In form it is an irregular oval with its axis west and
east. It is about 950 feet long and 450 feet at its greatest breadth.
On every side but the west the precipice falls away sheer and defiant,
rendering a feeble garrison able to battle with myriads.[+] To the
westward, however, the gradual slope makes a natural pathway always
possible, and human art has long since shaped this with convenient
steps. Nestling in against the precipice are various sanctuaries and
caves; _e.g._ on the northwestern side, high up on the slope beneath
the precipice, open the uncanny grottoes of Apollo and of Pan. On the
southern side, close under the very shadow of the citadel, is the
temple of Asclepius, and, more to the southeast, the great open theater
of Dionysus has been scooped out of the rock, a place fit to contain an
audience of some 15,000.[&]
[*] It is nearly 510 feet above the level of the sea.
[+] Recall the defense which the Acropolis was able to make against
Xerxes’s horde, when the garrison was small and probably ill organized,
and had only a wooden barricade to eke out the natural defenses.
[&] The stone seats of this theater do not seem to have been built till
about 340 B.C. Up to that time the surface of the ground sloping back
to the Acropolis seems simply to have been smoothed off, and probably
covered with temporary wooden seats on the days of the great dramatic
festivals.
So much for the bare “bones” of the Acropolis; but now under the
dazzling sunshine how it glitters with indescribable splendor! Before
us as we ascend a whole succession of buildings seem lifting
themselves, not singly, not in hopeless confusion, but grouped
admirably together by a kind of wizardry, so that the harmony is
perfect,—each visible, brilliant column and pinnacle, not merely
flashing its own beauty, but suggesting another greater beauty just
behind.
192. The Use of Color upon Athenian Architecture and Sculptures.—While
we look upward at this group of temples and their wealth of sculptures,
let us state now something we have noticed during all our walks around
Athens, but have hitherto left without comment. Every temple and statue
in Athens is not left in its bare white marble, as later ages will
conceive is demanded by “Greek Architecture” and statuary, but is
decked in brilliant color—“painted,” if you will use an almost
unfriendly word. The columns and gables and ceilings of the buildings
are all painted. Blue, red, green, and gold blaze on all the members
and ornaments. The backgrounds of the pediments, metopes, and frieze
are tinted some uniform color on which the sculptured figures in relief
stand out clearly. The figures themselves are tinted or painted, at
least on the hair, lips, and eyes. Flesh-colored warriors are fighting
upon a bright red background. The armor and horse trappings on the
sculptures are in actual bronze. The result is an effect indescribably
vivid. Blues and reds predominate: the flush of light and color from
the still more brilliant heavens above adds to the effect. Shall we
call it garish? We have learned to know the taste of Athenians too
well to doubt their judgment in matters of pure beauty. And they are
right. _Under an Athenian sky_ temples and statues demand a wealth of
color which in a somber clime would seem intolerable. The brilliant
lines of the Acropolis buildings are the just answer of the Athenian to
the brilliancy of Helios.
193. The Chief Buildings on the Acropolis.—And now to ascend the
Acropolis. We leave the discussion of the details of the temples and
the sculpture to the architects and archæologists. The whole plateau of
the Rock is covered with religious buildings, altars, and statues. We
pass through the Propylæa, the worthy rival of the Parthenon behind, a
magnificent portal, with six splendid Doric columns facing us; and as
we go through them, to right and to left open out equally magnificent
columned porticoes.[*] As we emerge from the Propylæa the whole vision
of the sacred plateau bursts upon us simultaneously. We can notice only
the most important of the buildings. At the southwestern point of the
Acropolis on the angle of rock which juts out beyond the Propylæa is
the graceful little temple of the “Wingless Victory,” built in the
Ionic style. The view commanded by its bastion will become famous
throughout the world. Behind this, nearer the southern side, stands the
less important temple of Artemis Braurōnia. Nearer the center and
directly before the entrance rises a colossal brazen
statue—“monstrous,” many might call its twenty-six feet of height, save
that a master among masters has cast the spell of his genius over it.
This is the famous Athena Promachos,[+] wrought by Phidias out of the
spoils of Marathon. The warrior goddess stands in full armor and rests
upon her mighty lance. The gilded lance tip gleams so dazzlingly we may
well believe the tale that sailors use it for a first landmark as they
sail up the coast from Cape Sunium.
[*] That to the north was the larger and contained a kind of picture
gallery.
[+] Athena Foremost in Battle.
Looking again upon the complex of buildings we single out another on
the northern side: an irregularly shaped temple, or rather several
temples joined together, the Erechtheum, wherein is the sanctuary of
Athena Polias (the revered “City Warden”), the ancient wooden statue,
grotesque, beloved, most sacred of all the holy images in Athens. And
here on the southern side of this building is the famous Caryatid
porch; the “Porch of the Maidens,” which will be admired as long as
Athens has a name. But our eyes refuse to linger long on any of these
things. Behind the statue of the Promachos, a little to the southern
side of the plateau, stands the Parthenon—the queen jewel upon the
crown of Athens.
194. The Parthenon.—Let others analyze its sculptures and explain the
technical reasons why Ictinus and Callicrates, the architects, and
Phidias, the sculptor, created here the supreme masterpiece for the
artistic world. We can state only the superficialities. It is a noble
building by mere size; 228 feet measure its side, 101 feet its front.
Forty-six majestic Doric columns surround it; they average thirty-four
feet in height, and six feet three inches at the base. All these
facts, however, do not give the soul of the Parthenon. Walk around it
slowly, tenderly, lovingly. Study the elaborate stories told by the
pediments,—on the east front the birth of Athena, on the west the
strife of Athena and Poseidon for the possession of Athens. Trace down
the innumerable lesser sculptures on the “metopes” under the
cornice,—showing the battles of the Giants, Centaurs, Amazons, and of
the Greeks before Troy; finally follow around, on the whole inner
circuit of the body of the temple, the frieze,[*] showing in bas-relief
the Panathenaic procession, with the beauty, nobility, and youth of
Athens marching in glad festival; comprehend that these sculptures will
never be surpassed in the twenty-four succeeding centuries; that here
are supreme examples for the artists of all time,—and _then_, in the
face of this final creation, we can realize that the Parthenon will
justify its claim to immortality.
[*] This, of course, is on the outside wall of the “cella,” but inside
the surrounding colonnade.
One thing more. There are hardly any straight lines in the Parthenon.
To the eye, the members and the steps of the substructure may seem
perfectly level; but the measuring rod betrays marvelously subtle
curves. As nature abhors right angles in her creations of beauty, so
have these Greeks. Rigidity, unnaturalness, have been banished. The
Parthenon stands, not merely embellished with inimitable sculptures,
but perfectly adjusted to the natural world surrounding.[*]
[*] It was an inability to discover and execute these concealed curves
which give certain of the modern imitations of the Parthenon their
unpleasant impressions of harness and rigidity.
We have seen only the exterior of the Parthenon. We must wait now ere
visiting the interior, for Phormion is beginning his sacrifice.
195. A Sacrifice on the Acropolis.—Across the sacred plateau advances
the little party. As it goes under the Propylæa a couple of idle
temple watchers[*] give its members a friendly nod. The Acropolis rock
itself seems deserted, save for a few worshippers and a party of
admiring Achæan visitors who are being shown the glories of the
Parthenon.[+] There seems to be a perfect labyrinth of statues of
gods, heroes, and departed worthies, and almost as many altars, great
and small, placed in every direction. Phormion leads his friends
onward till they come near to the wide stone platform somewhat in the
rear of the Parthenon. Here is the “great altar” of Athena, whereon
the “hecatombs” will be sacrificed, even a hundred oxen or more,[&] at
some of the major public festivals; and close beside it stands also a
small and simple altar sacred to Athena Parthenos, Athena the Virgin.
Suitable attendants have been in readiness since dawn waiting for
worshippers. One of Phormion’s party leads behind him a bleating white
lamb “without blemish.”[$] It is a short matter now to bring the
firewood and the other necessaries. The sacrifice takes place without
delay.
[*] The most important function of these watchers seems to have been to
prevent dogs from entering the Acropolis. Probably they were
inefficient old men favored with sinecure offices.
[+] The Acropolis seems to have become a great “show place” for
visitors to Athens soon after the completion of the famous temples.
[&] We know by an inscription of 169 oxen being needed for a single
Athenian festival.
[$] This was a very proper creature to sacrifice to a great Olympian
deity like Athena. Goats were not suitable for her, although desirable
for most of the other gods. It was unlawful to sacrifice swine to
Aphrodite. When propitiating the gods of the underworld,—Hades,
Persephone, etc.,—a _black_ victim was in order. Poor people could
sacrifice doves, cocks, and other birds.
First a busy “temple sweeper” goes over the ground around the altar
with a broom; then the regular priest, a dignified gray-headed man with
a long ungirt purple chiton, and a heavy olive garland, comes forward
bearing a basin of holy water. This basin is duly passed to the whole
company as it stands in a ring, and each in turn dips his hand and
sprinkles his face and clothes with the lustral water. Meantime the
attendant has placed another wreath around the head of the lamb. The
priest raises his hand.
“Let there be silence,” he commands (lest any unlucky word be spoken);
and in a stillness broken only by the auspicious twittering of the
sparrows amid the Parthenon gables, he takes barley corns from a
basket, an sprinkles them on the altar and over the lamb. With his
sacred knife he cuts a lock of hair from the victims head and casts it
on the fire. Promptly now the helper comes forward to complete the
sacrifice. Phormion and his friends are a little anxious. Will the
lamb take fright, hang back, and have to be dragged to its unwilling
death? The clever attendant has cared for that. A sweet truss of
dried clover is lying just under the altar. The lamb starts forward,
bleating joyously. As it bows its head[*] as if consenting to its fate
the priest stabs it dexterously in the neck with his keen blade. The
helper claps a bowl under the neck to catch the spurting blood. A
flute player in readiness, but hitherto silent, suddenly strikes up a
keen blast to drown the dying moans of the animal. Hardly has the lamb
ceased to struggle before the priest and the helper have begun to cut
it up then and there. Certain bits of the fat and small pieces from
each limb are laid upon the altar, and promptly consumed. These are
the goddess’s peculiar portion, and the credulous at least believe that
she, though unseen, is present to eat thereof; certainly the sniff of
the burning meat is grateful to her divine nostrils. The priest and
the helpers are busy taking off the hide and securing the best
joint—these are their “fees” for professional services. All the rest
will be duly gathered up by Phormion’s body servant and borne home,—for
Phormion will give a fine feast on “sacred mutton” that night.[+]
[*] If a larger animal—an ox—failed to bow its head auspiciously, the
omen could be rectified by suddenly splashing a little water in the
ears.
[+] As already suggested (section 159) a sacrifice (public, or, if on a
large scale, private) was about the only occasion on which Athenians
tasted beef, pork, or mutton.
[Illustration: Sacrificing a Pig]
Meantime, while the goddess’s portion burns, Phormion approaches the
altar, bearing a shallow cup of unmixed wine, and flings it upon the
flame.
“Be propitious, O Lady,” he cries, “and receive this my drink
offering.”[*]
[*] The original intention of this libation at the sacrifice was very
clearly to provide the gods with wine to “wash down” their meat.
The sacrifice is now completed. The priest assures Phormion that the
entrails of the victim foretokened every possible favor in future
athletic contests—and this, and his insinuating smile, win him a silver
drachma to supplement his share of the lamb. Phormion readjusts the
chaplet upon his own head, and turns towards the Parthenon. After the
sacrifice will come the prayer.
196. The Interior of the Parthenon and the Great Image of Athena.—The
whole Acropolis is the home of Athena. The other gods harbored thereon
are only her inferior guests. Upon the Acropolis the dread goddess
displays her many aspects. In the Erechtheum we worship her as Athena
Polias, the ancient guardian of the hearths and homes of the city. In
the giant Promachus, we see her the leader in war,—the awful queen who
went with her fosterlings to the deadly grappling at Marathon and at
Salamis; in the little temple of “Wingless Victory”[*] we see her as
Athena the Victorious, triumphant over Barbarian and Hellenic foe; but
in the Parthenon we adore in her purest conception—the virgin queen,
now chaste and clam, her battles over, the pure, high incarnations of
all “the beautiful and the good” that may possess spirit and mind,—the
sovran intellect, in short, purged of all carnal, earthy passion. It
is meet that such a goddess should inhabit such a dwelling as the
Parthenon.[+]
[*] The term “Wingless Victory” (_Nikē Apteros_) has reference to a
special type and aspect of Athena, not to the goddess _Nikē_ (Victory)
pure and simple.
[+] There was still another aspect in which Athena was worshipped on
the Acropolis. She had a sacred place (_temenos_), though without a
temple, sacred to her as _Athena Erganē_—Athena Protectress of the
Arts.
[Illustration: Athena Parthenos]
Phormion passes under the eastern porch, and does not forget (despite
the purification before the sacrifice) to dip the whisk broom, lying by
the door, in the brazen laver of holy water and again to sprinkle
himself. He passes out of the dazzling sunlight into a chamber that
seems at first to be lost in a vast, impenetrable gloom. He pauses and
gazes upward; above him, as little by little his eyes get their
adjustment, a faint pearly light seems streaming downward. It is coming
through the translucent marble slabs of the roof of the great
temple.[*] Then out of the gloom gleam shapes, objects,—a face. He
catches the glitter of great jewels and of massy gold, as parts of the
rich garments and armor of some vast image. He distinguishes at length
a statue,—the form of a woman, nearly forty feet in height. Her left
wrist rests upon a mighty shield; her right hand holds a winged
“Victory,” itself of nigh human size. Upon her breast is the awful
ægis, the especial breastplate of the high gods. Around the foot of her
shield coils a serpent. Upon her head is a mighty helmet. And all the
time that these things are becoming manifest, evermore clearly one
beholds the majestic face,—sweetness without weakness, intellectuality
without coldness, strength mingled justly with compassion. This is the
Athena Parthenos, the handiwork of Phidias.[+]
[*] This seems to be the most reasonable way to assume that the “cella”
of the Parthenon was lighted, in view of the danger, in case of open
skylights, of damage to the holy image by wind and rain.
[+] Of this statue no doubt there could be said what Dion Chrysostomos
said of the equally famous “Zeus” erected by Phidias at Olympia. “The
man most depressed with woes, forgot his ills whilst gazing on this
statue, so much light and beauty had Phidias infused within it.”
Besides the descriptions in the ancient writers we get a clear idea of
the general type of the Athena Parthenos from recently discovered
statuettes, especially the “Varvakeion” model (40½ inches high). This
last is cold and lifeless as a work of art, but fairly accurate as to
details.
We will not heap up description. What boots it to tell that the arms
and vesture of this “chryselephantine” statue are of pure gold; that
the flesh portions are of gleaming ivory; that Phidias has wrought the
whole so nobly together that this material, too sumptuous for common
artists, becomes under his assembling the perfect substance for the
manifestation of deity?
…Awestruck by the vision, though often he has seen it, Phormion stands
long in reverent silence. Then at length, casting a pinch of incense
upon the brazier, constantly smoking before the statue, he utters his
simple prayer.
197. Greek Prayers.—Greek prayers are usually very pragmatic. “Who,”
asks Cicero, who can speak for both Greeks and Romans in this
particular, “ever thanked the gods that he was a good man? Men are
thankful for riches, honor, safety…. We beg of the sovran God [only]
what makes us safe, sound, rich and prosperous.”[*] Phormion is simply
a very average, healthy, handsome young Athenian. While he prays he
stretches his hands on high, as is fitting to a deity of Olympus.[+]
His petition runs much as follows:—
“Athena, Queen of the Ægis, by whatever name thou lovest best,[&] give
ear.
[*] Cicero, _De Nat. Deor_, ii. 36.
[+] In praying to a deity of the lower world the hands would be held
down. A Greek almost _never_ knelt, even in prayer. He would have
counted it degrading.
[&] This formula would be put in, lest some favorite epithet of the
divinity be omitted.
“Inasmuch as thou dids’t heed my vow, and grant me fair glory at
Mantinea, bear witness I have been not ungrateful. I have offered to
thee a white sheep, spotless and undefiled. And now I have it in my
mind to attempt the pentathlon at the next Isthmia at Corinth. Grant me
victory even in that; and not one sheep but five, all as good as this
to-day, shall smoke upon thine altar. Grant also unto me, my kinsmen
and all my friends, health, riches and fair renown.”
A pagan prayer surely; and there is a still more pagan epilogue.
Phormion has an enemy, who is not forgotten.
“And oh! gracious, sovran Athena, blast my enemy Xenon, who strove to
trip me foully in the foot race. May his wife be childless or bear him
only monsters; may his whole house perish; may all his wealth take
flight; may his friends forsake him; may war soon cut him off, or may
he die amid impoverished, dishonored old age. If this my sacrifice has
found favor in thy sight, may all these evils come upon him
unceasingly. And so will I adore thee and sacrifice unto thee all my
life.”[*]
[*] Often a curse would become a real substitute for a prayer; _e.g._
at Athens, against a rascally and traitorous general, a solemn public
curse would be pronounced at evening by all the priests and priestesses
of the city, each shaking in the air a red cloth in token of the bloody
death to which the offender was devoted.
The curse then is a most proper part of a Greek prayer! Phormion is
not conscious of blasphemy. He merely follows invariable custom.
It is useless to expect “Christian sentiments” in the fourth century
B.C., yet perhaps an age should be judged not by its average, but by
its best. Athenians can utter nobler prayers than those of the type of
Phormion. Xenophon makes his model young householder Ishomenus pray
nobly “that I may enjoy health and strength of body, the respect of my
fellow citizens, honorable safety in times of war, and wealth honestly
increased.”[*]
[*] Xenophon, _The Economist_, xi, p. 8.
There is a simple little prayer also which seems to be a favorite with
the farmers. Its honest directness carries its own message.
“Rain, rain, dear Zeus, upon the fields of the Athenians and the
plains.”[*]
[*] It was quoted later to us by the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who adds,
“In truth, we ought not to pray at all, or we ought to pray in this
simple and noble fashion.”
Higher still ascends the prayer of Socrates, when he begs for “the
good” merely, leaving it to the wise gods to determine what “the good”
for him may be; and in one prayer, which Plato puts in Socrates’s
mouth, almost all the best of Greek ideals and morality seems uttered.
It is spoken not on the Acropolis, but beside the Ilissus at the close
of the delightful walk and chat related in the _Phædrus_.
“Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, give me the
beauty of the inward soul, and may the outward and the inward man be
joined in perfect harmony. May I reckon the wise to be wealthy, and
may I have such a quantity of gold as none but the temperate can carry.
Anything more?—That prayer, I think, is enough for me.”
Phormion and his party are descending to the city to spend the evening
in honest mirth and feasting, but we are fain to linger, watching the
slow course of the shadows as they stretch across the Attic hills. Sea,
sky, plain, mountains, and city are all before us, but we will not
spend words upon them now. Only for the buildings, wrought by Pericles
and his mighty peers, we will speak out our admiration. We will gladly
confirm the words Plutarch shall some day say of them, “Unimpaired by
time, their appearance retains the fragrance of freshness, as though
they had been inspired by an eternally blooming life and a never aging
soul.”[*]
[*] Plutarch wrote this probably after 100 A.D., when the Parthenon had
stood for about five and half centuries.