Jewish American Identity in New York City
DOI: 10.4324/9781003311423-1
Introduction
Jewish American Identity and Erasure in Pop Art examines Jewish identity among American artists in the sixties. I reconsider Pop art within the context of Jewish American artists, gallery owners, critics, and collectors in New York City in the early sixties, including Robert and Ethel Scull, Leo Castelli, Ivan Karp, and Roy Lichtenstein. Very few of them cited their Jewish identity as an integral or relevant element to their collecting or artistic production. However, other critics, artists, and scholars in the sixties and in later scholarship state their Jewish identity. These figures and others in the book helped to form the foundation of American Pop movement and their Jewish identity becomes a site of presence and absence in the historiography of Pop art—a brief mention without any substantive discourse as to why this aspect of identity was named and how it makes meaning for these subjects and their work.
In some cases, the figures discussed readily identify as Jewish or connect their identity with their work. In most cases, they do not.
Looking at how others assert Jewish identity for these figures through primary sources (at times treating scholarship as a kind of primary source document), exhibition reviews and wall labels, and scholarship from then and now, when the artists themselves are silent, contextualizes the search for Jewish identity and recognition in the Pop sixties and more recently. Throughout the chapters, I use texts—scholarship, primary sources, and writing for a general audience—as a cipher for identity. What Jewish American identity can mean will be explored throughout the introduction and following chapters, an identity that avoids a fixed definition. One may identify as religious or secular (the latter connoting, usually, a cultural approach to Jewishness without religious affiliation) or as some variation of the two and beyond. The sixties were a period of heightened secularism in Jewish communities and within this context, one might need to recognize how these artists did not feel an urgency or need to identify as Jewish. Additionally, by looking at public-facing textual sources, writings about art for a popular audience, exhibition wall labels, and more, we see how Jewish American identity is made present and absent both in the past and now. To more clearly understand how Pop art made, or marked, different modes of Jewish identity in the sixties, I incorporate the historiography of Jewish identity in Pop art and the ways by which identity is named or silenced.1
In the immediate years after World War II, more specifically after the trauma of the Holocaust, Jewish identity in America continued to change in individuals’ religious and/or secular expressions. Each of these expressions of Jewish identity contain multitudes then and now. In a period in which identity was in constant shift, for Jews and other Americans, it was also a period in which mass culture and popular media attempted to create an expectation of the sameness of “American” identity. Pop art collapses the space between art object and consumer object and therefore questions the demarcations of “high” and “low” art and could be seen as a critique, ambivalence, or embrace of middle-class American life.2 Art history tends to focus on the canonical, second wave of Pop art
(with some expansion in recent years), its American iteration in New York City where many of its artists, collectors, gallerists, and writers lived, and a place where Jewish American identity has a long history of celebration and assimilation. By questioning how Jewish American identity does and does not appear in Pop art and its writings in and of the sixties, I see parallels with Jewish American identity today. I approach this topic as a Jewish American, who finds herself sometimes uncomfortable, other times reassured by this topic. While it is not an imperative that one should be a Jew to write about this topic, I found as my work progressed in a period of heighted antisemitism in the United States and Europe, this project became an imperative for me.
My approach allows for more deeply considered questions about the ways mass culture influenced Pop art and its participants and, to a larger extent, formed further modes of identity by looking at the nexus of the art world in this period and the ways in which Jewish identity was registered or negated. Although Pop art could suggest a more inclusive access to art and its subjects with its readily understood imagery (which was a chief complaint of many of Pop's critics and one of the early draws for collectors),3 its objects remained a high value object. Some Pop collectors and gallerists attempted to use the artworks as an entry point for status, which, if granted, was often troubled, particularly if one was Jewish. Pop, through its middle class subjects, is a mode of exploring class mobility in the sixties, and, here, with a focus on Jewish experiences.
I do not seek to find some essentialist “Jewish” aspect of Pop art, but to reveal how an understanding of different Jewish American selfhoods and subject positions helps delineate the multivalent identities and selves that are often ignored in Pop scholarship. In Pop artworks, there are very few moments where Jewish subjects appear, which perhaps makes sense with the movement, by making mass media its subject, Pop artists often used a predominantly white, heteronormative, and assumed Christian majority society as American culture for their subject. Each chapter offers a case study
to allow for further analysis of the different expressions and, at times, the erasure of Jewish American identity and its intersections in different aspects of New York City's art spaces and experiences. Each chapter seeks to address different aspects of Jewish American presence within art systems and institutions. This introduction considers the previous generation of artists, the abstract expressionists, and the rich historiography of Jewish identity in relation to those artists and critics in the postwar period in New York City. The introduction reckons with Jewish American identity in the years immediately after the Holocaust through brief studies of Helen Frankenthaler, Clement Greenberg, and Harold Rosenberg. By primarily focusing on Greenberg and Rosenberg, two voices that dominated New York art criticism in those years, and how they navigated their identity in the art world, later chapters explore how the Pop generation responded to the context in which they at times either rebelled against or embraced.
A pivotal chapter focuses on Roy Lichtenstein, the prototypical Pop artist, and elucidates how selfhood can be negated through mass culture in his paintings. Chapter 2, “Roy Lichtenstein: The Missing Jewish Pop Artist,” questions Pop artists’ use of mass culture as a way in which the individual is subsumed into a larger sameness through popular culture, or, in other words, as an “assimilation” that doesn’t quite work or perhaps works too well. I approach identity as a process rather than fixed in meaning, assisted by Jon Stratton's framework.4 By looking at how Lichtenstein's identity may be one of continual process, and by avoiding declarations about his own relation to Jewish identity, there is a stronger argument for how Jewish identity might relate to the dominant structure of the art system in the sixties. Furthermore, within this chapter, Andy Warhol offers context for understanding Pop and Jewish identity in the sixties as his writings (and his later portrait series of Jewish subjects) reveal possible attitudes and prejudices of the larger art community in this period. Warhol contextualizes the dominant art world, its white, Christian, non-Jewish identity of the period, particularly in his “Before and After” series. The picturing of a “nose
job” resonates in the period as one sign of “assimilation” as is shown in Sander L. Gilman's Making the Body Beautiful: A CulturalHistory ofAestheticSurgery.5
Chapter 3, “The Jewish Museum in the Sixties,” focuses on the Jewish Museum in New York City, a museum space that posited itself as an avant-garde exhibition space beyond the Jewish identity of artists or subject matter of artworks exhibited in the sixties. I address how and why the space occupied shifting vantage points during the sixties and how those shifts related to larger aspects of American Jewish identity in the New York City during the sixties. These shifts are revisited in the book's conclusion about contemporary art and Jewish identity.
Chapter 4, “Gallerists, Collectors, and Art Historians: Class, Mobility, and Jewish American Identity,” includes gallery owners, art collectors, art critics, and art historians and allows for the expansion of Jewish American identity in Pop. Figures such as Leo Castelli, Ivan Karp, Robert and Ethel Scull, Jane Holzer, and Susan Sontag populate the chapter. These important Pop collectors, gallerists, and art historians further expand the study of Jewish identity in the sixties Pop art world. Art, as a commodity object, also becomes a signifier of class and class mobility. Pop artists were seen by its detractors as, to use Max Kozloff's descriptive term, “vulgarians,”6 a term carrying a connotation of “lower class” sensibilities (or class assignations) and its dissemination in the art world. The chapter looks at Jewish identity within the context of those who are identified as Jewish by others (and themselves) and how others named Jewish identity. By mapping the naming of identity and what was codified within that naming, the chapter addresses erasure even when identity is assigned or named.
The final chapter, “Edges of Pop,” considers Alex Katz, George Segal, Audrey Flack, and Jim Dine, including a brief discussion of Larry Rivers. These artists are not commonly categorized as Pop, yet most do appear in Pop surveys.7 On the edges or around the Pop art movement, these artists sometimes pictured Jewish identity through content in ways the “typical” Pop artist did not. Katz's work contains
possible Jewish subjects within his self-portraits. His status as a sometime Pop artist, especially given his often biographical paintings, offers an opportunity to consider ideas of selfhood and identity in Pop art and the reasons why Pop might not be able to sustain these selfhoods. Dine and Segal perhaps share more similarities with the Pop movement than Katz, and both have biographical moments which appear in their work. Flack's work, more apt to be categorized as Photo-Realist, reflects a reckoning with popular culture.
The conclusion addresses contemporary art and Jewish American identity. The Jewish Museum's contemporary exhibition programming, which shares some aspects with its avant-garde sixties moment, creates questions about the museum's legacies under Alan Solomon and how those legacies are present in contemporary exhibitions. Additionally, the conclusion focuses on Deborah Kass and her WarholProject. Kass’ work connects to sixties’ Pop and uses historical and contemporary Jewish identity as it has been formed and magnified within popular culture as her subject. The conclusion addresses where erasures of Jewish identity in Pop art have contemporary signification.
What Does It Mean to Write About Jewish Identity
The question of historical and contemporary Jewish identity is complicated. Jewish American identity, in relation to different art movements, has been broached as a subject of scholarship at various intervals. Jewish identity is a minority identity within the United States and is applied by authors and/or self-identified as religious and/or secular and can encapsulate both or neither identity. Stuart Hall argued about the difficulties of identity:
Identity is not as transparent or unproblematic as we think. Perhaps instead of thinking of identity as an already
accomplished fact, which the new cultural practices then represent, we should think, instead, of identity as a ‘production’, which is never complete, always in process, and always constituted within, not outside, representation.8
Hall's analysis of cultural identity allows for shared and different individual and collective experiences, ways of being and feeling, of identity. Identity is a process and production, individual yet societal, familial, and other pleasures and pressures impact its formation. Laurence J. Silberstein applies Stuart Hall's theory to Jewish identity, and, in describing a series of essays, states, “Desiring to create conditions for change within Jewish life, they posit concepts of identity that emphasize process over product, multiplicity over unity, and becoming rather than being.”9 Jewish identity can appear and possibly retreat from public, and even private, experiences or expressions—there is no definitive Jewish identity nor do I attempt to espouse one kind of Jewish American identity among the figures discussed.
As Jonathan D. Sarna describes in American Judaism, it is impossible to define what Jewish identity means to individual Jewish Americans.10 Sarna complicates how an understanding of Jewish American identity may change depending upon the individual and how each Jewish American may differ in religious and/or nonreligious practice:
Indeed, American Judaism cannot even be directly paralleled to Protestantism and Catholicism, since Judaism embraces many individuals who affiliate with no religious institutions whatsoever but nevertheless carry a strong sense of Jewish identity based upon their Jewish descent and their commitment to secular, cultural, philanthropic, or nationalist Jewish causes. Any effort to offer even a reasonably comprehensive and coherent account of American Judaism must, as a consequence, fall short.11
Sarna shows how Jewish American identity is impossible to categorize and Jewish identity can be non-religious. Trying, then, to assign identity to Jewish artists, whose works often (or never) contain Jewish subjects or content can be an uncomfortable process. Karen Brodkin, in How Jews Became White Folks and What That Says about Race in America, describes the shift from a Jewish identity that was seen as “not white” to how throughout the twentieth-century Jews, to reiterate her title, “became white” through analysis of her family's experiences and textual sources.12 More recently, Michael W. Twitty, in his Koshersoul: The Faith and Food Journey of an African American Jew, describes for a popular audience Jewish identity in contemporary America, an identity that remains “inside and outside” of the majority experience. He states:
To be Jewish is to be inside and outside of whiteness in America, to straddle the territories of culture, “race,” peoplehood, and, most problematic, religion. Jewish languages have several terms to describe levels of spiritual piety and religious commitment, engagement, and detachment, and none of those terms and ideas has much of anything to do with actually “being Jewish,” in the allencompassing sense.13
Twitty describes his contemporary experiences as a Black Jewish gay man, here specific to how Jewishness becomes emblematic of difference. For Twitty, attempting to define what “being Jewish” means to any individual can only be determined by that individual. Through a focused Pop study, I hope to show how varied Jewish American identity could be during the period. By including some contemporary voices and experiences, I hope to show how the many avenues of identity Jewish Americans expressed in the sixties have continued and expanded in present experiences. David E. Kaufman, in providing pathways for describing Jewish identity specific to the sixties, sees as the most relevant way an “identification of Jewishness, postmodern in its plurality and
subjectivity, and hence qualitative and (ostensibly) value-free.”14 Kaufman argues that Jewishness as a mode of Jewish American identity as beginning within the period of this book: “Jewishidentity, then, associates both a historical moment—the early 1960s—and a new form of Jewishness—more conflicted, contested, and confused than that which came before.”15 The sixties was a period in which Jewish identity, both in how Jews and non-Jews viewed and understood identity, was shifting. Many of the artists and figures included in the book may also be best described as having a fluid relationship with Jewishness.
Samantha Baskind and Larry Silver, in Jewish Art: A Modern History, stated best how to grapple with Jewish identity of artists— whether the work may be, at first look, about a Jewish subject or experience. The authors contend with how to define their project of “Jewish art”:
The crucial question of definition haunts these initial pages. First and foremost, ‘What is Jewish art?,’ and why should it matter in studying painting and sculpture of the modern era? Critics debate whether Jewish art should be limited only to any art made by a Jew, independent of content, or if both the artist and the artwork must be identifiably Jewish, expressly engaging the ‘Jewish experience.’16
I repeat their questions in these pages, as I also struggle with these questions and the possible dangers of defining. The authors settle (somewhat) on the “Jewish experience” as the context for definition yet agree there is great ambiguity in such terms, an ambiguity that is “both religious and cultural”17 and can only state equivocally, “Clearly, no sole definition of Jewish art has universal applicability; indeed, many historians have avoided the topic altogether.”18 While they do not evade the subject, they do avoid fixing a definition. To address the ambiguities and difficulties of the topic remains the best way to broach it and the pathway I follow in these pages. Baskind
and Silver offer an imperative for my study, one that helps to move beyond any gesture toward essentialism. The authors write:
Jewish art needs to be studied for this very reason: art by a Jew – a person not raised within the dominant majority – is continually shaped by difference. We intend to explore through a range of examples how that difference, both consciously and unconsciously affects art made by Jews.19
In addition to offering a mode of understanding non-Jewish subjects by Jewish artists, the authors argue that difference, the lived experience of Jewish Americans as a minority, may impact art with and without the artist's intention. An “unconscious” intention would then support how non-Jewish subjects may also relate to those experiences by Jewish artists. The continual naming of Jewish identity of artists, gallerists, and collectors—without any discussion of what that naming entails—suggests one more way their “difference” is what is being named. However, Baskind and Silver describe how the desire to name Jewish identity may not relate to bias, “Even those artists who never overtly depict Jewish subjects may find themselves singled out as Jewish, even if not victimized by discrimination.”20 Their statement expands how to address the naming of identity, a multitude of reasons, which can include not only a pronouncement of difference but also perhaps the joy of (or an attempt to find) recognition.
To further develop how I approach Jewishness and Jewish identity, Lisa E. Bloom, in JewishIdentities inAmerican Feminist Art:Ghosts of ethnicity, offers a useful framework for Jewish identity in art historical scholarship. She defines the book's approach to Jewish identity as one that is “ongoing and complex internal class, generational, political, gender, racial, and sexual divisions and concerns” and “Jewishness … stands for a cultural identity rather than a strictly defined religious one, and for a shifting set of historically diverse experiences rather than a unified and monolithic notion of Jewishness.”21 Bloom addresses the ability to consider
Jewish artists beyond religious subject matter and makes clear the diversity of Jewish experiences. Similar to my work, she does not present a survey, rather a series of artists who throw “the complex issues of feminism, assimilation, identity, and geographical displacement into relief generationally.”22 Bloom offers a way of considering how Jewish American Pop artists, as a sample of artists, can help us to face questions of Pop, identity, and some Jewish American experiences.
Difference, being deemed “other,” is a forceful act, which becomes a commonplace action by the majority. As I looked for models to discuss erasure in writing about Jewish identity, I hesitated to define my project from the framework of how the majority may characterize difference. Instead, I lean into Homi K. Bhabha's articulation about how “subject positions of identity” function within “‘in-between’ spaces” as “terrain for elaborating strategies of selfhood – singular or communal – that initiate new signs of identity, and innovative sites of collaboration, and contestation, in the act of defining the idea of society itself.”23 I find Bhabha's points help to elucidate how Jewish identity, which can be “in between” religious, secular, and even at times ethnic identities, as a subjective experience, which can be considered in relation to art.
It is also troubling, from my own subject position as a Jewish American, to find myself in the role of stating who is and is not a Jew and to speak for others’ experiences. Charles Dellheim, in Belonging and Betrayal: How Jews Made the Art World Modern, assists me in defining how I bring the book's actors together here:
Recounting the story of how certain Jews penetrated the art world (and indeed other spheres) in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries inevitably raises the vexing and potentially explosive question of who is and is not a Jew. For the purposes of this story, I refer to Jews in terms of origins or descent; this is what I mean when I refer to Jewish art dealers, collectors, and so forth. This choice most certainly is not based on the notion that Jews are a race with inborn
traits and an unchanging essence that exists independent of specific social situations. Nevertheless, Jewish origins were a critical social fact that could and did affect religious practices, ethnic ties, migration patterns, occupational choices, and cultural identity.24
Dellheim's “social fact” reiterates that the Jewish experience was a formative component of one's life through the social impact of Jewish identity, even if Jewish identity was not important to the individual. Dellheim supports the concept that absence is presence, “Jewish origins shaped how individuals and families were treated and regarded by the ‘compact majority,’ as Henrik Ibsen put it, and how they saw themselves and others, whether or not they openly expressed such sentiments.”25 Baskind, Silver, Bloom, and Dellheim assist me to make connections between the Jewish American experience in the sixties to the Pop art nexus. Within this context, I show how aspects of Pop, its popular and mass culture subjects, while proposing an egalitarian access yet at the same time enforcing social boundaries, paralleled many Jewish American experiences, in which an increased focus on being “American” without hyphenation was espoused, as antisemitism remained.
Other art historians have worked to understand how Jewish identity relates to art. Linda Nochlin asserts an ambiguity in “Jewish identity and visual representation in the modern period.”26 She states, beyond the unequivocal imagery of antisemitism, that the artist's subject position impacts their depictions, “Much depends on the position of the artist Jewish or non-Jewish, more or less sympathetic to Jews, ‘neutral’ or hostile—as well as the position of the viewer in relation to represented Jewishness.”27 While Nochlin's essay and the edited volume focus on an earlier period than Pop, her understanding of the varying responses and allowance for the differences of and within Jewish identities makes space for why and how Jewish identity may appear to only some viewers in a work; or may disappear completely by the intention of a Jewish artist. Her essay describes the many reasons and fears artists may have for
representing Jewishness in art within a visual culture, both of fine art and media, that has a long tradition of antisemitic visual tropes and stereotypes.28
Baskind, Silver, Dellheim, and Nochlin point toward ambiguity and offer no assurances about how Jewish identity can, or cannot, be made visual. Their texts reveal a discomfort in naming definitively the influence, or imprint, of Jewish identity on visual art. I share their discomfort; for the most part, with a few exceptions, the artists in this book do not assert their Jewish identity in relation to their artistic production. Nochlin describes a way through, particular to the edited volume, by showing that by challenging the representation of Jewish people, meanings and interpretations for both the creator and viewer are numerous.29 I continue Nochlin's conversation about Jewish identity and visual representation within the context of Pop, mainly in New York City, in the sixties. The Pop context offers a moment where the artist's (and at times subject's) identity was subsumed into the mass culture.
Tamar Garb, in the same edited volume, proposes a way to think through erasure and disappearance within modernity, considering how silence can be replaced with the “speech of actual Jews, those men and women negotiating the crisis of modernity from their positions as Jewish subjects, speaking either a devalorized or a borrowed tongue and from a body on which was inscribed their ineluctable difference.”
30 Garb shows how difference was inherent to many Jews’ experiences during a period of constant flux and change, with individuals using the language of the majority to avoid difference, yet a Jewish difference was continually asserted by the circumstances. In the sixties Pop becomes a new language for artists, Pop artists used the images and visual language of mass and consumer culture which had become the language of mainstream, dominant culture, or society by the early sixties. Difference was not celebrated; rather, sameness was embraced and the focal point of many Pop works. What then of the Jewish artist whose subjects are not Jewish? In the period of the sixties, where difference could be an attribute, does Pop's “crisis of modernity” (or post-modernism)
place visual representation—in some part and possibly quite small, but still there—within a context of Jewish identity in the period?
Before Pop: Jewish American Identity in New York City
The generation before Pop, abstract expressionism (and, by some extension, post-painterly abstraction), has been perhaps one of the more fertile explorations of modern art and Jewish identity in recent years with scholarship on Mark Rothko, Barnett Newman, Helen Frankenthaler, and Morris Louis.31 Its main critics, Harold Rosenberg and Clement Greenberg, both wrote about their own Jewish identity, and there is scholarship connecting their Jewish identity and criticism. However, there has been no study of Pop art, at its peak during the sixties and in one of its centers, New York City, and Jewish identity. This is surprising because the Jewish identity of various artists, gallerists, and critics is often named and left on the page throughout various writings of the period and in later scholarship.
The abstract expressionist period in New York City in the late forties and fifties creates a milieu to better understand how Jewish Americans within art communities established (or did not) their Jewish identity within their professional identity. Additionally, the Pop artists reacted against the art establishment of the previous generation and their modes of identity expression. Greenberg and Rosenberg discussed Jewish identity in print and lectures at various points throughout their career. Clement Greenberg, the controversial critic and one possible signifier of the art establishment by the late fifties who held power for the abstract expressionists and whose disdain of Pop has been clearly stated, offers vital context for the Jewish American experience in the fifties and sixties.
Greenberg's 1950 “Self-Hatred and Jewish Chauvinism” is a selfreflective essay, seeking to understand his own identity in America as a Jew and a minority after the trauma of the Holocaust. Greenberg presents a series of different ways of asserting and
assimilating Jewish identity in his contemporary period. He describes his own desires for identity and expression:
What I want to be able to do is accept my Jewishness more implicitly, so implicitly that I can use it to realize myself as a human being in my own right, and as a Jewinmy ownright. I want to feel free to be whatever I need to be and delight in being as a personality without being typed or prescribed as a Jew or, for that matter, as an American. I am both Jew and American naturally, simply because I cannot help being them, having been born and brought up what I am. But I do not want to make any more issue of being a Jew—unless I am forced to by such things as anti-Semitism—than an Englishman makes of being English.32
Greenberg makes no mention of art criticism in the essay. He states unequivocally his Jewishness, and, what may be somewhat typical for some Jewish Americans in the postwar period, that he does not see that identity as impacting most aspects of his life, unless he is confronted with antisemitism. At every turn, Greenberg's focus is the universal over personal experience of identity and, as Caroline A. Jones argues, against Zionism.33 While most of the artists discussed in this book leave no similar record (or their thoughts on Greenberg's essay), I consider Greenberg's statements as one possible point of intervention and as a primary source, one way to approach what is not on the canvas, what is not in the archive, for artists’ and authors’ Jewish identity.
Greenberg often wrote in contradictory terms. A few years earlier, in 1944, as part of “Under 40: A Symposium,” Greenberg opens with, “This writer has no more of a conscious position toward his Jewish heritage than the average American Jew—which is to say, hardly any. Perhaps he has even less than that.”34 Greenberg, as we will see in future chapters, describes common experiences of Jewish Americans, those who would likely identify as secular. In the same essay, he creates a confusing paradigm of thought. However, later in
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689 The account of Marcion’s life given by Salmon (s.v Marcion) in the Dict. Christian Biog. is here mostly followed. Abundant references to the Fathers and other sources are there given.
690. Tertullian’s talk (adv. Marcion. Bk I. c. 1) about its barbarism and the natives living in waggons is mere rhetoric. He probably knew nothing about the place.
691. Stoicae studiosus. Tertullian, de Praescript. c. XXX.
692. Id. adv. Marc. Bk IV. c. 4; and de Praescript. c. XXX., where the money is said to have been 200 sestertia or nearly £1800.
693. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk I. c. 2. Cf. Pseudo Tertullianus, adv. omn. Haer. c. XVI.
694. Neander, Ch. Hist. II. p. 150; cf. Tertullian, de Praescript. c. XLI.
695 Ibid. op. cit. c. XXX. Salmon (Dict. Christian Biog. s.v Marcion) wishes to transfer this story to Cerdo.
696. Neander, Church Hist. II. p. 139, disbelieves it.
697. Justin Martyr, First Apol. cc. XXVI., LVIII. He writes as Marcion’s contemporary Cf. Clem. Alex. Strom. Bk III. c. 3.
698. Epiphanius, Haer. XLII. p. 553, Oehler.
699. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk IV. c. 5.
700. Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. Bk IV. c. 14.
701. The council was held 692 A.D. See Salmon in Dict. Christian Biog. s.v. Marcion.
702. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk I. c. 27.
703. The story that he seduced a virgin is now generally held to mean merely that he corrupted the unsullied faith of the
Church. Cf. Hegesippus in Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. Bk V c. 22. So Salmon, art. cit. supra. As Neander points out (Ch. Hist. II. p. 136 note), Tertullian, had he known the story, would certainly have published it. Yet he contrasts Marcion’s chastity with the real or supposed incontinence of his follower, Apelles (de Praescript. c. XXX.).
704. Irenaeus, Bk I. c. 25, p. 219, Harvey.
705. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. c. 3, p. 370, Cruice.
706. So Salmon, art. cit., Renan, and others. This view, however, cannot apply to Justin Martyr who was, as we have seen, his contemporary. See n. 5. p. 205 supra.
707. See Salmon (Dict. Christian Biog. s.v. Marcion) for authorities.
708. See Harnack’s article on Marcion in Encyc. Brit. (11th ed.).
709. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk IV c. 2. Marcion apparently knew nothing of St John’s Gospel, which may not have become public till after his death. Had he done so, as Renan says (L’Égl. Chrétienne, p. 71), he would probably have preferred it to any other, because of its markedly anti-Jewish tendency.
710. According to him, Jesus was not born of woman. Cf. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. c. 31, pp. 383-384, Cruice.
711. The whole controversy is well summed up in Matter, Hist. du Gnost. t. II. pp. 238-242.
712. See Matter, op. cit. t. II. pp. 246-260, where Marcion’s emendations are given chapter by chapter and their sources cited.
713. Hahn, in his Antitheses Marcionis gnostici, Königsberg, 1823, claimed to have restored this book, while Hilgenfeld has examined the extant remains of Marcion’s Gospel in Das
Evangelium Marcions He attempted to restore Marcion’s Apostolicon in the Zeitschr. für hist. Theol. 1855.
714. The Antitheses seem to have been seen by Photius in the Xth century, so that we need not despair.
715 Like the Eros-Phanes of the Orphics and the Ophite Agape. So Pausanias, Bk IX. c. 27, says the Lycomidae sang in the Mysteries hymns to Eros, which he had read, thanks to a δαδοῦχος or torch-bearer at Eleusis.
716. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk I. c. 2, says that Marcion is obliged to admit the existence of a Creator, because his work is manifest; but that he will never be able to prove that of a higher God than he—a mode of reasoning which might take him further than he intends.
717. Isaiah, xlv. 7.
718. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk III. c. 8.
719. Neander, Ch. Hist. II. pp. 142 sqq.
720. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk III. c. 24.
721. Op. cit. Bk III. c. 4. Cf Neander, Ch. Hist. II. p. 144.
722. Tertullian, op. cit. Bk V c. 1.
723. Gal. i. 1. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk V., contains most of Marcion’s dealings with the Pauline Epistles.
724. Gal. i. 6, 7.
725. Gal. ii. 11 sqq.
726. Gal. iii. 14.
727. 1 Cor. i. 21.
728 Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk V c. 5.
729. 2 Cor. iv. 4. Cf. Tertullian, op. cit. Bk V c. 11.
730. Tertullian, op. cit. Bk V. c. 14.
731. Rom. x. 2, 3.
732. 2 Thess. i. 8. Cf. Tertullian, op. cit. Bk V c. 16.
733. Epiphanius, Haer. XLII. p. 676, Oehler; Tertullian, loc. cit.
734. Ephes. iii. 8, 9.
735 Tertullian, op. cit. Bk V c. 18.
736. But see n. 2, p. 217, infra.
737. As is plain from the words of Plutarch quoting, as is generally thought, Theopompus of Chios. See Is. et Os. cc. XLVI., XLVII. Al-Bîrûnî, Chronology, p. 189, says indeed that both Bardesanes and Marcion borrowed from Zoroaster. But this was eight centuries after Marcion’s death, and we have no evidence as to Al-Bîrûnî’s means of knowledge of his tenets.
738. Harvey’s Irenaeus, I. p. cli. There is a curious resemblance to Marcion’s Demiurge in the Clementine Homilies, XX. c. 2, where the king of this world who rules by law and rejoices in the destruction of sinners is mentioned. But the Homilies are probably Ebionite and certainly, in the form in which they have come down to us, later than Marcion.
739. Neander Antignostikus, Eng. ed. vol. II. p. 490, calls him the representative of the Protestant spirit. In modern times, it is perhaps sufficient to notice Harnack’s predilection, as shown in his Dogmengeschichte, for Marcion and his works. FoakesJackson, Some Christian Difficulties of the Second and Twentieth Centuries (Hulsean Lectures), Cambridge, 1903,
pp. 19 sqq., thinks the study of the controversy between Marcion and Tertullian should especially appeal to Modernists.
740. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. c. 29, p. 378, Cruice.
741. Epiphanius, Haer. XLII. p. 556, Oehler.
742. Op. et loc. cit.
743. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk IV c. 11. Cf. p. 207, supra.
744. Tertullian, op. cit. Bk I. c. 27.
745. Harnack in Encyclopaedia Britannica (11th ed.) s.v. “Marcion.”
746. He always couples Valentinus and Marcion together. Cf. de Praescpt. cc. XXIX., XXX. Justin Martyr, Marcion’s contemporary, says (First Apolog. c. XXVI.) that “he is even now teaching men of every nation to speak blasphemies.” Renan, L’Égl. Chrétienne, p. 363, thinks that the Marcionites were “much the most numerous sect before Arius.”
747. Foakes-Jackson, Hulsean Lectures, p. 108. Cf. Sanday, The Gospels in the 2nd Cent., Oxford, 1876, p. 236.
748. Theodoret, Epp. 113 and 145.
749. συμμισούμενοι καὶ συνταλαίπωροι: Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk IV cc. 9, 30.
750. See Neander, Ch. Hist. vol. II. pp. 151 sqq. and Matter, Hist. du Gnost. t. II. pp. 298, 304.
751. Eznig of Goghp, from whose History of the Armenian Church quotation has been made above. He says that Marcion taught that there were three heavens, in the highest of which dwelt the Good God, in the next the God of the (Jewish) Law, and in the third his angels. Below this lay Hyle or Matter who existed independently and was female. From the union of the God of
the Law and Hyle, this earth was produced, after which its Father retired to his own heaven, leaving the earth to the rule of Hyle. When he desired to make man, Hyle supplied the dust of which he was formed, into which the God of the Law breathed his own spirit. Adam became the adorer of Hyle, upon which the God of the Law informed him that, if he worshipped any other God but him, he should die. On this Adam withdrew from Hyle, and this last, becoming jealous, made a number of gods and filled the world with them. Hence all men were cast into hell at death, until the Good God looked down from the highest heaven, had pity on them, and sent his Son to deliver the “spirits in prison,” which He did directly He went down into hell after His own death. After Jesus had revealed Himself to the Creator and received his confession of ignorance, Jesus illuminated Paul and made him His apostle. It is extremely unlikely that this story should have formed part of Marcion’s own teaching, although it may possibly have been told by some follower of his of Semitic blood, or, as Salmon suggests, by Cerdo. It is to be found in Neumann’s translation of Eznig in the Zeitschr. für hist. Theol. vol. IV and in the Dict. Christian Biog. s.v. Marcion.
752. Tertullian, adv. Marc. Bk I. c. 16.
753. Epiphanius, Haer. XLII. p. 688, Oehler, says Marcion was succeeded by Lucian, whom Apelles followed. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. cc. 37, 38, p. 393, Cruice, is probably the source of Epiphanius’ statement; but he does not seem to have had any first-hand knowledge of the Marcionite heresy or its chiefs, and is not here so good a witness as Tertullian, or Irenaeus, who mentions neither Lucian nor Apelles.
754. Tertullian, de Praescript. c. XXX.
755. Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. Bk IV. c. 13.
756. ἐδημιούργησε τὰ γενόμενα. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. c. 37, p. 393, Cruice.
757 Epiphanius, Haer XLII. p. 694, Oehler The same Logion or saying is also found in Clem. Alex. Strom. Bk I. c. 28, in the Apostolical Constitutions, Bk II. c. 37, and in Clem. Hom. XVIII. c. 20.
758. Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. Bk V. c. 13.
759. Irenaeus, Bk I. c. 26, § 1, p. 220, Harvey. According to Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VIII. c. 16, p. 416, Cruice, he had been a disciple of Justin Martyr.
760. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. c. 31, p. 382, Cruice.
761. Eusebius, op. et loc. cit. supra.
762. Hippolytus, op. cit. Bk VII. c. 37, p. 393, Cruice; Epiphanius, Haer. XLIII. p. 688, Oehler.
763 Tertullian, de Resurrectione, c. II.
764. Eusebius, Vita Constantini, Bk III. cc. 64-66.
765. So Salmon in Dict. Christian Biog. and Harnack in Encyclopaedia Britannica, both s.v. Marcion.
766. Hatch, H.L. p. 77, n. 1, quoting Harnack.
767. Hatch, op. cit. pp. 75, 76, shows that the allegorical method introduced by the Gnostics in order to avoid the difficulty of reconciling the Old Testament with the New was at first scornfully rejected, but was soon adopted by the orthodox, and was pursued by both Catholic and Protestant writers up to a few years ago.
768. Droysen, Hist. de l’Hellénisme, t. II. pp. 33, 289.
769 Op. cit. III. pp. 351, 352; 439, 450. As Droysen points out, in this respect there was no practical difference between Parthian and Persian.
770 As in B.C. 41, when the Parthians under Pacorus “rushed” Palestine. See Morrison, The Jews under the Romans, p. 58, for authorities. Cf. Chapter V Vol. I. p. 101, n. 3, supra.
771. This is shown by, among other things, the claims of the kings of Armenia, Cappadocia, and Pontus to be descended from the seven heroes who delivered Persia from the Magians after the death of Cambyses. See Droysen, op. cit. II. p. 519; III. pp. 82, 83.
772. Droysen, op. cit. III. p. 83.
773. Horace, Odes, Bk IV Ode 5. Cf. his Carmen Seculare.
774. Renan, L’Antéchrist, pp. 317, 318, for authorities. A critical essay on the Neronic myth and its congeners is to be found in Dr Charles’ Ascension of Isaiah, p. li sqq.
775. Gibbon, Decline and Fall (Bury’s ed.), vol. I. pp. 5, 205.
776. Gibbon, op. cit. I. p. 209. Severus’ victories are doubted by Gibbon; and Prof. Bury apparently supports his author.
777. Op. cit. I. pp. 269, 270. Prof. Bury in his Appendix 17 points out that the whole history of Valerian’s capture is still very obscure.
778. Op. cit. I. p. 340.
779. Op. cit. I. p. 375. See Prof. Bury’s note 83 on page cited.
780. Op. cit. II. pp. 228-231.
781. Op. cit. I. p. 373.
782. Gibbon, op. cit. V. pp. 78 sqq. Winwood Reade, Martyrdom of Man, pp. 249, 250, tells the story excellently and dramatically
783. Horace, Odes, Bk I. Ode 38.
784 Gibbon, op. cit. I. p. 382. Cf. Cumont, Religions Orientales, p. 171. Lactantius, de Mort. Persecutor. c. XXI., says that this was the conscious aim of Galerius. Although his authority in such a matter is suspect, there can be little doubt of the fact.
785. The actual decree of the emperors is given in Cumont, Textes et Monuments, t. II. inscr. 367. The date should probably be 304 A.D. See n. on Table of Dates, Vol. I. supra.
786. Plutarch, Vit. Pomp. c. XXIV.
787. Cumont, Rel. Or. pp. 167, 168; 173, 174; id. T. et M. I. pp. 9, 10. Cf. P.S.B.A. 1912, pp. 127, 128.
788. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 247.
789. Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius, pp. 593597.
790. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 248.
791. For the list see Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 258, n. 7. He thinks the worship was first introduced here by the legions from Germany.
792. Avezou and Picard, “Bas-relief Mithriaque,” R.H.R. t. LXIV (Sept. Oct. 1911), pp. 179 sqq.
793. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 223, n. 2.
794 Herodotus, Bk I. c. 131. Cf. F Max Müller, Hibbert Lectures, p. 276. The similarity of name between Varuna and the Greek Ouranos is fairly obvious. Prof. Hope Moulton, Early Zoroastrianism, 1913, pp. 391, 392, n. 3, argues that the Persian god of the sky was called Dyaush or Zeus.
795. Certainly of the Mitannians, who, according to Prof. Hugo Winckler, were one of the two main branches of the Hittites, and a Syrian people. See his report on Excavations at Boghaz
Keui in the Mitteilungen of the Deutsche Orient-Gesellschaft for 1907. The text is given in the J.R.A.S. for 1910, pp. 723 sqq.
796. If we accept the latest theory which makes Russia the original home of the Aryan race (see Zaborowski, Les Peuples Aryens d’Asie et d’Europe, Paris, 1908, p. 424) it may have even had a European origin.
797. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 225.
798. James Darmesteter, Essais Orientaux, Paris, 1883, p. 113.
799. Casartelli, La Philosophie Religieuse du Mazdéisme sous les Sassanides, pp. 17, 18.
800. Op. cit. p. 73.
801 660-583 B.C. See A. V Williams Jackson, Zoroaster, N.Y 1901, p. 15 and Appx II. and III. Cf. D. Menant, “Parsis et Parsisme,” Conférences au Musée Guimet (Bibl. de Vulgarisation), 1904, t. XVI. 1ère Ptie, p. 149.
802. Darmesteter, Le Zend Avesta (Annales du Musée Guimet), Paris, 1892, p. xxvii, for dates. West, Pahlavi Texts, pt I. (Sacred Books of the East), pp. lxviii-lxix; pt II. p. xxiv. Cf. Hope Moulton, op. cit. pp. 126, 127.
803. Herodotus, Bk III. c. 61 sqq.
804. The Sculptures and Inscriptions of Darius the Great at Behistun, British Museum Publications, 1907.
805. Op. cit. pp. 8, 9.
806. Op. cit. p. 14.
807. Maspero, Hist. Ancienne des Peuples de l’Orient Classique, Paris, 1899, t. III. p. 674; Rawlinson, History of Herodotus,
1862, vol. II. p. 458.
808. Herodotus, Bk I. c. 140; VII. c. 113.
809. Op. cit. Bk I. c. 131.
810. Plutarch, de Is. et Os. c. XLVI.
811. As in the book called “The Illumination of Bel” found in Assurbanipal’s Library at Kuyunjik. See Sayce, “Astronomy and Astrology of the ancient Babylonians and Assyrians,” T.S.B.A. vol. III. pp. 146 sqq. Cf. Chapter III, vol. I. p. 114 supra for examples.
812. That tables were actually used for this purpose, was shown in the Pall Mall Magazine for August, 1896 and with more detail in Star-Lore for April, 1897.
813 Dill, Nero to Marcus Aurelius, pp. 449, 450, for authorities.
814. Circa 270 A.D. See Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 26.
815. See Chap. III, Vol. I. p. 103, n. 4, supra.
816. See Chap. IV, Vol. I. p. 123 supra.
817. Cumont, T. et M. I. pp. 19-20, relies on a passage quoted by Damascius from a certain Eudemos who may or may not be Eudemos of Rhodes (Alexander’s contemporary) that, “of the Magi and all the warrior [or Medic: ἄρειον] race some call the intelligible” [i.e. that which can be apprehended by the mind only and not by the senses] “and united universe Topos (place), while others of them call it Chronos (Time), and that from this universe are to be distinguished a good God and evil demon; or as some say, prior to these, Light and Darkness.” “Both the one and the other school therefore,” Damascius goes on, “after the undivided Nature, make the double series of the higher powers distinct from one another, of one of
which they make Oromasdes the leader, and of the other Arimanius.” It seems evident from the above words, that only a certain sect of the Magi in the time of this Eudemos put Time at the head of their pantheon. Cf. Cory’s Ancient Fragments, 1832, pp. 318, 319.
818. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 19.
819. See “The Lion-headed God of the Mithraic Mysteries,” P.S.B.A. 1912, pp. 125-142, and p. 251 infra.
820. Darmesteter, Ormuzd et Ahriman, Paris, 1877, p. 1, quoting a lost book of Aristotle mentioned by Diogenes Laertius.
821. Cumont, T. et M. II. p. 326 and Fig. 193.
822. Op. cit. II. p. 336, reproduced in the article in the P.S.B.A. quoted in n. 2, p. 237 supra. In the collection of busts of the gods on the arch surrounding the Tauroctony at Bologna, the head of Zeus wearing the modius of Serapis appears with six others who, reading from left to right, are the Sun, Saturn, Venus, Jupiter, Mercury, Mars and the Moon. Although Jupiter here occupies the centre and place of honour, it is probable that both he and the other gods are here merely symbols of the planets. See Cumont, op. cit. II. p. 261 and Fig. 99.
823. Op. cit. II. p. 349, and Pl. VI. So in the bas-relief of Sarrebourg, unfortunately much mutilated (op. cit. II. p. 514), a similar assembly of gods includes Neptune, Bacchus, and Vulcan, who are certainly not gods of the planets.
824. For these inscriptions, see Cumont, op. cit. t. II., Inscriptions 80 (p. 107), 129 (p. 115), 318 (p. 140), 386 (p. 149), 522 (p. 167), and 470 (p. 160).
825. Op. cit. II. p. 98.
826. Op. cit. II. p. 141.
827 Op. cit. II. pp. 160, 392, 393, and article in P.S.B.A. quoted in n. 2, p. 237 supra.
828. Plutarch, de Is. et Os. c. XLVI. Cf. Origen, adv. Cels. Bk I. c. 60.
829. Herodotus, Bk VII. c. 114.
830. Clem. Alex. Strom. Bk V c. 11, says Zeus is the same as Hades. He quotes Euripides as authority for the statement, but I do not know the play in which it appears. He also, op. cit. Bk V. c. 14, quotes Xenocrates as saying that there is an “Upper and Lower” Zeus.
831. Heracles, of course, applied compulsion to Hades. For the magic compulsion of the same power, see the Magic Papyrus of the Bibl. Nat. in Wessely’s Griech. Zauberpap. p. 38.
832. P.S.B.A. 1912, p. 137, for authorities.
833. Jean Reville, La Religion à Rome sous les Sevères, Paris, 1886, p. 30.
834. Cumont, T. et M. II. p. 91, no. 2; p. 99, nos. 30, 34; p. 102, no. 49; p. 103, no. 53.
835. Op. cit. II. p. 99, no. 29.
836. Op. cit. II. p. 105, no. 62; p. 116, no. 131.
837. Op. cit. II. p. 96, nos. 17, 20; p. 117, no. 139; p. 145, no. 354.
838. Pindar, Isthm. V 1, where the Sun is said to be the son of Theia.
839. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 225, and n. 1; cf. Darmesteter, Ormuzd et Ahriman, p. 65.
840. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 231.
841 Op. cit. I. p. 200.
842. Op. cit. I. pp. 304-306. The best and clearest example of these scenes is perhaps that given in the bas-reliefs surrounding the Tauroctony in the Mithraeum at Osterburken. See Op. cit. II. p. 350 (Monument 246).
843. Op. cit. II. Fig. 1 of Mon. 246 (p. 350).
844. Op. cit. I. pp. 159 sqq.
845. Cumont, op. cit. II. p. 395, and Fig. 315.
846. Op. cit. II. p. 350, f (2) of Osterburken.
847. It is not invariable, as the sculptor was sometimes evidently governed by considerations of space.
848. Op. cit. II. p. 350, f (5) of Osterburken. Cf. Mon. 245, Pl. V (Neuenheim) and Mon. 251, Pl. VII (Heddernheim).
849. West, Pahlavi Texts, Pt 1, S.B.E. p. 20 (Bundahish); Porphyry, de antro nympharum, c. 18. Cf. Döllinger, J. und H. I. p. 419, and Tiele, Religion of the Iranian Peoples (Eng. ed.), Bombay, 1912, Pt 1, p. 113.
850. Cumont, T. et M. II. p. 298, Fig. 154 (Sarmizegetusa); p. 309, Fig. 167 (Apulum); p. 326, Fig. 193 (Sissek). Döllinger, J. und H. I. p. 141, thinks this cup-shaped boat represents the Moon. But see against this Cumont, op. cit. I. pp. 167, 168.
851. Cumont, T. et M. II. p. 515 and Pl. IX, Mon. 273 ter d (8) (Sarrebourg). Cf. ibid. II. p. 310, Fig. 168, Mon. 192 bis b (7), also I. p. 167 and n. 5.
852. Op. cit. II. p. 346, e (1) and Pl. V (Neuenheim); II. p. 350, f (3) (Osterburken); II. p. 339, b (6) and Pl. IV (Mauls).
853 Op. cit. II. p. 309, a (1) (Apulum); II. p. 326, b (3) and Fig. 193 (Sissek).
854. Op. cit. II. p. 346, e (4) (Neuenheim); II. p. 309, a (2) (Apulum); II. p. 515, d (10) (Sarrebourg).
855 Cumont, op. cit. I. p. 304, puts these scenes in a slightly different order. That followed here is that adopted in the Mithraeum at Heddernheim, op. cit. II. Pl. VII, where the sequence is fairly plain.
856. Op. cit. II. p. 365, d (7) (Heddernheim).
857. Op. cit. II. p. 338, c (5) (Klagenfurt).
858. Op. cit. II. p. 350, f (8) (Osterburken).
859. Op. cit. I. p. 172.
860. Op. cit. II. p. 272, c (2) (Serdica); II. pp. 303, 304, c (1) (Temesvar); II. p. 326, b (1) (Sissek).
861. Op. cit. II. p. 337, c. (4) (Klagenfurt).
862. Op. cit. I. p. 173.
863. Op. cit. II. p. 201.
864. Cumont, op. cit. I. p. 173, and n. 3.
865. Most of the monuments show the remains of colour.
866 Like the thrust of the Spanish bull-fighter which is supposed to split the heart.
867. Sometimes, though very rarely, the serpent is absent, as in the Mithraeum discovered at Krotzenburg near Hanau. Op. cit. II. p. 353.
868 Cumont, op. cit. I. pp. 207, 208. Following the mention by Dionysius the Areopagite of a “threefold Mithras,” M. Cumont thinks that the two torch-bearing figures are representations of Mithras himself. The theory is ingenious, but not very plausible. See loc. cit. pp. 208-213.
869. Op. cit. I. p. 186, for authorities. Cf. Döllinger, J. und H. I. p. 420. Tiele, Rel. of Iran. P. pt 1, p. 118, says that “originally” the bull was slain not by Ahriman, but by its creator.
870. Op. cit. I. p. 197. Cf. Porphyry, de antro nymphar. c. XVIII.
871. D. Menant, “Les Rites Funéraires,” Conférences au Musée Guimet, t. XXXV pp. 181, 182.
872. Cf. Plutarch, de Is. et Os. c. XLVII.
873. So Cumont, T. et M. I. pp. 182, 305.
874. Op. cit. I. p. 192.
875. Op. cit. II. Pl. VIII.
876. Op. cit. I. p. 175, Fig. 10, where some of the guests at the banquet wear the masks of crows and other animals corresponding to the Mithraic degrees.
877. Justin Martyr, First Apology, c. LVI.
878. Cumont, T. et M. II. Pl VIII, shows this most clearly. Pl. V (Neuenheim), Fig 213, opposite p. 337 (Virunum), and p. 278, Fig. 121 (Orsova), leave no doubt possible.
879. Cumont, op. cit. I. p. 178, and Fig. 11.
880. The Juppiter Optimus Maximus of the Palazzo Altieri. Op. cit. II. p. 104.
881. Darmesteter, Ormuzd et Ahriman, p. 65.
882 Porphyry, de antro nympharum, c. XXIV
883. Op. cit. cc. V VI.
884. Plutarch, de Is. et Os. c. XLVI.
885. Porphyry, de antro nymph. c. XXIV.
886. Op. cit. cc. V VI.
887. Cumont, T. et M. I. pp. 198 sqq. Damascius (in Cory’s Ancient Fragments, 1832, p. 319) attributes to the “Sidonians” a theogony which would make “Otos,” said by Cory to mean the Night Raven, the Νοῦς νοητός born from Aer and Aura. Has this anything to do with the symbolism of the crow, found always as the attendant of Mithras at the Tauroctony?
888. Söderblom, La Vie Future d’après le Mazdéisme, Paris, 1901, pp. 265, 266, for authorities. Cf. Casartelli, La Philosophie Religieuse du Mazdéisme, p. 186.
889. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 168. He relies on a fragment of Dion Chrysostom which does not appear to have this meaning. See ibid. II. p. 64.
890. M. Cumont, op. cit. I. p. 82, says that the sex is left undecided, so as to show that Infinite Time, the Supreme God according to him of the Mithraic pantheon, can produce by himself. This is certainly not the case with one of the statues given among his own monuments (op. cit. II. p. 213, Fig. 44), or that lately recovered from the Mithraeum at Sidon, for which see Pottier, “La Collection Louis de Clercq,” Conférences au Musée Guimet, Bibl. de Vulg. t. XIX. 1906, Pl. opp. p. 236, or P.S.B.A. 1912, Pl. XIX, Fig. 18, or Cumont, Les Mystères de Mithra, Bruxelles, 1913, p. 235.
891. Cumont, T. et M. II. p. 213, Figs. 43, 44.
892 Op. cit. II. p. 216, Fig. 47; p. 238, Fig. 68; p. 259, Fig. 96.
893. Op. cit. II. p. 196, Fig. 22. A hole in the back of the head, made apparently for “fire-breathing” purposes, was found in the Sidon statue also. See Cumont, Les Mystères, fig. 27.
894 T et M. II. p. 375.
895. Op. cit. I. p. 78.
896. The only evidence that he produces of this last fact is a quotation from Damascius, whose authority seems to be “Eudemus the Peripatetic,” given in n. 4, p. 236 supra, that some of the Magi call the νοητὸν
Topos and others Chronos. A good divinity and an evil demon according to the same author descend from this power, one of whom he says is called Oromasdes and the other Arimanius. It is not very clear how much of this is Eudemus and how much Damascius. No other author gives any hint that would allow us to attribute so early an age to Zervanism.
897. P.S.B.A. 1912, pp. 139-142.
898. Firmicus Maternus, de errore, c. IV See Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 140, n. 7.
899. They are mentioned together in the great Magical Papyrus of the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris, Wessely, Griechische Zauberp. p. 73.
900. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 141.
901. The absence of any corresponding statue of the goddess is perhaps accounted for by the misogynic character of the Mithraic worship. Yet an empty niche corresponding to the one containing the lion-headed figure appears in some Mithraea.
902 Neander, Ch. Hist. II. p. 7 and note.
903. Plutarch, de Is. et Os. c. XLV
904. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 5, quoting West, Pahlavi Texts, Pt V. p. xxvi, 50.
905. F. Rosenberg, Le Livre de Zoroastre, St Petersburg, I. p. 10, and n. 3, says that the reform of Zoroaster was specially directed to the abolition of the worship of Ahriman.
906. Cumont, T. et M. II. Monument 246, e (5) Osterburken, and others as in t. I. p. 157 and n. 3. Cf. also Pl. XVI, Fig. 7, in P.S.B.A. 1912.
907. The Orphic invocation of the Titans referred to in Chap. IV, vol. I. p. 116, n. 3 supra can be thus explained.
908 Cumont, T et M. II. p. 215, Fig. 46 (Pl. XVIII, Fig. 13 of P.S.B.A. 1912); II. p. 238, Fig. 68 (Pl. XVIII, Fig. 15 of P.S.B.A. 1912).
909. So in the leaden dirae from Cyprus now in the British Museum the Lord of Hell is invoked as “the god who is set over the gate of hell and the keys of heaven.” P.S.B.A. t. XIII., 1891, p. 177.
910. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 294.
911. Wessely, Griechische Zauberp. pp. 32 sqq.
912 Georges Lafaye, “L’Initiation Mithriaque,” Conférences au Musée Guimet, t. XVIII. 1906, pp. 98 sqq.
913. Wessely, Gr. Zauberp. Op. cit. in note 2 supra, and Lafaye, op. cit. passim.
914 Wessely, op. cit. p. 61.
915. See Chapter IX, p. 108 supra.
916 Lafaye, L’In. Mith. pp. 111, 112, goes further and says that both Gnostics and Manichaeans derived their doctrine from Mithraism, which formed a half-way house between Paganism and Christianity. But see Chapter XIII, infra.
917. Origen, adv. Cels. Bk VI. c. 22. For “musical” there should probably be read mystical, the τ being easily omitted by a copyist.
918. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 38.
919. Charles, Bk of the Secrets of Enoch, pp. xxx sqq.
920. The Greek Apocalypse of Baruch, published by James in Cambridge Texts and Studies, vol. V No. 1, p. 44.
921. adv. Cels. Bk VI. c. 22. He has, however, got the order wrong, as copper is generally associated with the planet Venus, tin with Jupiter, iron with Mars, silver with the Moon, gold with the Sun, and lead with Saturn.
922. Bouché Leclercq, L’Astrologie Grecque, p. 23, for authorities.
923. Op. cit. p. 276. Cf. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 40.
924. Porphyry, de Abstinentia, Bk IV c. 16.
925. Cumont, T. et M. I. p. 129, n. 6, for list of monuments.
926. Op. et loc. cit.; id. Rel. Or. p. 179.
927. See p. 234, supra. The figure of the divine archer in the winged disk which figured on the coins called darics is, perhaps, the exception which proves the rule. Or is this meant for the Fravashi or genius of the king? Cf. Hope Moulton, Early Zoroastrianism, p. 260.
928. Somewhere about 204 B.C. See Cumont, Rel. Or. p. 58.
