13. Posidippus and the Mysteries: Epitymbia Read by the Ancient Historian

Beate Dignas, University of Michigan

Ancient historians and epigraphists rarely consider Hellenistic poetry in their research. Although literally transmitted funerary epigrams have been absorbed frequently in epigraphic corpora, skepticism prevails even with regard to this category. But neither Posidippus nor other Hellenistic poets, nor their impact on historical insights can be ignored altogether. P. Bing calls the distinction between ‘inscribed’ and ‘quasi inscriptional’ texts “a hermeneutical crux”—looking at Hellenistic epigrams from the philologist’s angle he observes that “the possibility of inscription bedevils scholars who deal with funerary epigram.” [1] In analogy, the historian should complain to be bedeviled by the possibility of literary fiction. But is this so? Does it matter whether Posidippus composed an epigram for it to be inscribed, or composed it and then it happened to be inscribed, or composed it knowing that it would never be inscribed, or was inspired by a monument that he thought should be inscribed, or used an inscribed epitaph as a model, or thought of an epitaph for a person he knew? The possible scenarios are many. On both ‘sides’, scholars have denied that it matters, because the generic conventions of both types—meter, structure, formulae, and themes—are the same; the history of the term ‘epigramma’ and its meaning confirm that one cannot really be understood without the other. [2]

Epitaphs both in meter and prose began to appear in the mid-seventh century BCE: the dead person’s name, sometimes accompanied by patronymic or ethnic, was incorporated into a short formula. Soon this was expanded, with the main intention to commemorate the deceased as an ideal type. From early onwards the reader was envisaged as moving along, encouraged to stop, to praise the deceased as well as the poem and the monument. This dialogue between monument and passerby can take many forms: the stone can speak for itself; the dead person, the dedicator who composed or commissioned the inscription, or the passing reader’s voice can be heard. The texts inform the reader not only about the deceased’s name and homeland but also about how he died, who performed funeral rites, and about the feelings of survivors. Moreover, inscribed epitaph was an integral part of grave monuments. A three-dimensional character, the fact that the text was an essential part of a monument that often showed secondary decoration reinforcing the praise and characterization of the dead person, is thus crucial for its interpretation. [3] However, this monumental aspect of grave inscriptions was often imitated in literary epigrams that appear to describe the relief or sculpture of a grave monument. [4] As R. Thomas puts it, “the fiction of functionality is part of the essence of the developing epigrammatic genre.” [5] Hellenistic epigram books, which were preceded by a growing interest in authorship in the fourth century BCE, and which can be traced to the first half of the third century, were thus not an antidote to inscriptions but a form of literary expression that imitated and further developed what poets found on stone and composed for epigraphic purposes. Not surprisingly, some historians have included the literary epigram in their analysis of particular themes in grave inscriptions [6] and, vice versa, philologists have observed epitaphic rhetoric as inspiration and boundary for the Hellenistic poet. [7]

There are, however, epigrams that can most likely be identified as literary and in which the conventional features of epitaphs are absent or even reversed; even texts that carry the bedeviling possibility of inscription may be more different from epitaphs than assumed. P. Bing argues that there is indeed a basic difference between the two types of texts and labels this difference as one of reader response: the reader of epigram deals with the lack of context that a monument would provide by way of engaging his imagination. [8] This response is of concern to the ancient historian, as he or she scrutinizes any context provided at least for its plausibility, if not authenticity. If the text had been inscribed, he or she would still hesitate to take it at face value [9] but the information would at least gain a concrete setting: names and places, institutions and activities.

In what follows, I shall not offer any solution to the ‘hermeneutical crux’. Reading the section of the Milan papyrus that features ‘epitymbia’, one theme in particular catches the interest of the historian of Greek religion: epitaphs for initiates in the mysteries. Trying to avoid the ‘imaginative play’ [10] of a casual reader but nevertheless contextualizing the texts, we can find out more about the author of the epigrams as well as his subject.

The heading of the section ‘epitymbia’ has been completely restored by the editors of the text. [11] In comparison with some of the other sections of the papyrus this one is long, as it comprises 20 epigrams, covering the columns VII.9–X.6 (AB 42–61). It is remarkable that the epitaphs almost exclusively regard women; only the last two poems (AB 60–61) were written for men. The section starts with three epitaphs for women who had been initiated in mystery cults. These poems are followed by four epitaphs for older women, seven epitaphs for young girls, two epitaphs for women who died in childbirth, two more epitaphs for old women, and the final two for men. On the whole, the themes of the texts are very familiar both from ‘inscribed’ and ‘quasi inscriptional’ funerary epigrams: the praise of longevity, the lament for young girls who died before marriage and before having given birth to children, the sorrow for death in childbirth, etc. [12] In contrast to the anthologies, which also include these groups, the focus on women takes priority over epitaphs for famous men, noble men, philosophers, warriors, and sons. The majority of the epitymbia show a third person narrative, dialogues with frequent changing voices but no puns or jokes, as were common among epitaphs. The poems rather describe and express compassion for the typical lives and activities of women.

Let us turn to the first three epigrams. Scholars are surprised about this group as few epitaphs concerning initiates in mystery cults exist from the Hellenistic and Roman periods. [13] The largest group among the grave inscriptions that refer to Dionysus, Dionysiac activities, or Bacchic activities represents epitaphs for members of Bacchic organizations who are promised continued participation in the thiasos of Dionysus. [14] This is followed by epitaphs for children initiated by their parents, whose grief even Dionysus cannot take away. What is even more remarkable than the scarce number of relevant texts is the difficulty in identifying such texts. Most obviously, pictorial representations suggesting a Dionysiac context (ivy leaves, grape clusters, cantharoi etc.) may be misleading as sole indicators. [15] In other cases particular terms in the texts can be associated with initiation but do not provide a clear indicator. They may touch on ideas about the lands of the blessed, the Elysian Fields, or the special sphere of the pious, but do not explicitly mention mysteries. [16] Throughout, a clear eschatological message does not appear in grave inscriptions on stone, nor does the myth of Dionysus feature. [17] When the texts themselves mention initiation explicitly it may not be possible to distinguish between Dionysiac initiates and those of other mystery cults. When specified, reference is mostly made to the Eleusinian mysteries.

These “ambiguities” apply also to the three epigrams discussed here. The first text in the section (AB 42) is actually too fragmentary for restoration.

Given the content of the following two epigrams it seems plausible that this first one, too, was an epitaph for a female initiate. This is possibly confirmed by the letters εκατ[ in the first line. Although a restoration ἑκατὸν or ἑκατονταέτις (cf. AB 47, l.5) would also be possible, Hecate’s connection with the mysteries comes to mind. In the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (438–40) her actual cult title is propolos of Demeter or Persephone, so that she has her role and prerogatives at Eleusis. On an Attic red-figure bell-krater of ca. 440 BCE she is shown leading Persephone up from Hades, thus acting as a mediator between the worlds. [19] The editors of the Milan papyrus therefore suggest the genitive dependent of a noun such as as θεράπνη or πρόπολος, which would characterize the deceased. [20] The expression ἀγαθὴ γενεή (line 4) might refer to the offspring of the deceased woman, who was then supposedly married and of fairly old age. As the second epigram is also for an old woman, this would match the composition of the whole section, which has epitaphs for older women precede those of young girls.

The second epigram in the section (AB 43) is an epitaph for Nicostrate, who had been initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries. [21]

The fact that Nicostrate is transferred into a world that she had glimpsed already during her lifetime (indicated by ἄψ) is important in order to make the case that she was indeed an initiate. Described is not just the transition to the underworld, which may be part of any epitaph. The final sentence, “the harbor of sad old age is softer this way,” has a double meaning in that her comfort could either lie in having seen her children grow up or in the initiation with the promised blessed afterlife.

The third epitaph (AB 44) is for a young girl named Niko from Posidippus’ birthplace Pella. She was a servant of Dionysus, a young Bacchant.

The Εὐιάδ[εϲ in this case are not the mythological Maenads but the local women initiated in the Dionysiac mysteries. Their exclamation αἶ τρίϲ refers to the threefold invocation of the deceased that we encounter already in Homer (e.g. Odyssey IX 65), which also makes the restoration of the imperfect ἔκλαιον more plausible than the rather too long aorist ἔκλαυσαν. The ἐξ ὄρεων contrasts with and at the same time reminds of the famous cry of the Bacchants in Euripides’ Bacchae (163ff.), εἰς ὄρος, εἰς ὄρος. A famous inscription from Miletus illustrates nicely that walking to the mountains was a central feature in Bacchic rites: [22]

The final ἐπειδή-clause at the end of Niko’s epitaph is rather enigmatic. Does the comment “fate led her down from the mountains” merely symbolize her death as such, or could it be that she actually died during the orgiastic rites on the mountains? Plutarch’s famous fourth-century story about the maenads of Delphi comes to mind: during a winter night the exhausted maenads fell asleep in the marketplace of war-shaken Amphissa and were only rescued by local women, who made sure that they returned safely to Delphi. [23] In spite of such allusions, however, we see Bacchic rites and a priestess of Dionysus well integrated into the world of polis religion—which was not exceptional at all. Dionysiac sacrifice, which is documented well in sacred calendars and cult regulations, took place side by side with sacrifices to other civic divinities. [24] In contrast, evidence of Bacchic initiation ritual is virtually absent.

In particular the third epigram makes us wonder about the concrete context and even the authenticity of what we are told. Posidippus’ birthplace Pella is concerned, and from other written and material evidence we know that Dionysiac rites and orphic mysteries existed in Macedonia, and indeed in Macedonian Pella. [25] Numerous tombs painted with Dionysiac scenes have been found. In the literary accounts the royal family features prominently as followers of Dionysus: Argaeus, the first king supposedly installed the cult of Dionysus with virgin maenads. [26] Plutarch describes Alexander the Great’s mother Olympias vividly as a maenad. [27] Alexander himself started to identify with the god and promoted the worship of the god tremendously. Not least, there is the Derveni papyrus which contains an account of rites and eschatological beliefs, together with a prose allegorical-philosophical interpretation of a theogonic Orphic poem. [28]

Given that other texts, such as Posidippus’ elegy On Old Age [29] and proxeny decrees for him by the Aetolian League at Thermum [30] and from Delphi, [31] show the poet’s close contacts with his birthplace Pella, it is not too far-fetched to assume that Posidippus might have known Niko or other initiates in Pella. In fact, already before the new papyrus collection was known, M. Dickie and L. Rossi argued that Posidippus was deeply involved in religious life and was himself an initiate. Both scholars have referred to pieces of evidence that might not have been conclusive on their own but certainly deserve to be reconsidered in light of the new papyrus. [32] A few years ago several gold leaves were discovered in tombs in Pella, one of which dates to the late fourth century and bears the following inscription:

This and comparable leaves or tablets found not only in Macedonia originated among groups of worshippers who were initiates of Dionysus and shared beliefs about the afterlife. [34] Unlike this particular text others actually describe the landscape of the underworld and give instructions to the dead person. A gold leaf from Southern Italy helps our understanding of the dative on the Pella leaf: it is not a dedicatory dative but an abbreviated form of the phrase “tell Persephone/bring to the attention of Persephone.” The text leaves no doubt that Bacchic mysteries are concerned and that Persephone played a key role in the initiate’s admittance to the underworld. [35]

Although the “pious initiate” in the fourth century leaf from Pella cannot be our poet and although the name Posidippus is reasonably common in Macedonia, a family connection seems plausible. [37] If one takes hints from these gold leaves and allows for a connection with the epigrammatist, several passages in the so-called Seal of Posidippus or Poem on Old Age [38] take on far more concrete meanings than they would otherwise. At least two passages in the poem feature the language of mysteries and initiation.

It is possible that the lines have a metaphorical meaning and merely describe the initiation of the poet in his craft by the muses. [42] One may also argue, however, that they truly reflect the language and confidence of an initiate of Dionysus. [43] To tip the scales, the new epigrams for female initiates would appear to be strong support for this second, more concrete interpretation. Given how scarce their epigraphic counterparts were, they show an exceptional interest, familiarity, and even involvement in the language and rites of Dionysiac worshippers. The fact that the epigrams are the first three ‘epitymbia’ and that they form a section of their own within this group gives them a special quality. If Posidippus’ epigrams functioned as a “model book,” they would have attracted an interesting ‘clientele’ and would have promoted Dionysiac worship. As such, or if used for inscription on stone, they would have been widely read. [44]

Posidippus’ epigrams hence grow on the ancient historian. As reflections of contemporary reality they are potentially significant. [45] As expressions coming “from within,” they are undoubtedly significant for our knowledge of ancient mystery cults and their worshippers.