The Severans were a very interesting family and not without their tales of violence and greed and uniqueness of character. The period is not marked by something so brutal as the psychotic reign of Caligula, but there are certainly many more dimensions. It is a time of militarism, of a weakened Senate, a time of spymasters in various camps. It is a time marked by the rise of lower classes, the presence of powerful women and, over it all, a blanket of religious superstition at the highest levels. Many believe that it is this period in Rome’s history that marks the true beginning of the end of the Roman Empire.
The emperor at the time that Children of Apollo takes place is Septimius Severus (A.D. 193-211). He was the son of an Equestrian from Leptis Magna in North Africa. When Commodus was killed in A.D. 192, Severus was governor of Pannonia. When the Praetorians decided to auction the imperial seat a short time later, Severus’ legions declared him Emperor. He subsequently defeated his two opponents who had also declared themselves Emperor: Clodius Albinus and Pescennius Niger. A purge of his opponents’ followers in the Senate and Rome made Severus sole ruler of the largest empire in the world.
Septimius Severus
Septimius Severus was a martial emperor, the army was his power and he knew how to use it, how to keep the legions loyal and happy. He increased troops’ pay and in a radical move, allowed soldiers to get married. Severus was good to his troops, his Pannonian Legions and victorious Parthian veterans. He promoted equestrians to ranks previously reserved for aristocrats and lower ranks to equestrian status. There was a lot of mobility within the rank system at the time due to Severus ‘democratization’ of the army. Remember, this was an emperor who favoured his troops, especially those who distinguished themselves. The Emperor is open and friendly with Lucius Metellus Anguis in Children of Apollo, but there are prices to be paid. No favour is free.
Julia Domna
One of the most interesting characters of the period is Severus’ Empress, Julia Domna. She appears as one of the strongest women in Rome’s history, an equal partner in power with her husband who heeded her advice but also respected her. Julia Domna was the first of the so-called ‘Syrian women’, she and her sisters hailing from Antioch where their father had been the respected high priest of Baal at Emesa (Homs in modern Syria).
Julia Domna was also highly intelligent, known as a philosopher, and had a group of leading scholars and rhetoricians about her. They came from around the Empire to be a part of her circle, to win commissions from her. No doubt, her strength also bought her a great many enemies, including the Praetorian Prefect and kinsman to Severus, Gaius Fulvius Plautianus. The conflict between the Empress and the Prefect of the Guard is something that will cause Lucius Metellus Anguis a good deal of trouble in Children of Apollo and sequel, Killing the Hydra. To boot, Plautianus’ daughter, Plautilla, was married to the Empress’ son, Caracalla. One can imagine what family gatherings must have been like!
Gaius Fulvius Plautianus
Apart from the power, their keen ability to wield it, and their nurturing of the army’s loyalty, a very interesting and important aspect of Septimius Severus and Julia Domna is the great faith they both placed in astrology and horoscopes. They consulted with their astrologer and the stars on all decisions. Astrology affected everything, including Severus’ choice of her as his wife – he was greatly impressed by her horoscope.
By all accounts Caracalla and Geta, Severus’ heirs, were both at odds much of the time. The two brothers seem to have tolerated each other’s presence and competed fiercely, even in the hippodrome where at one point they raced each other so fiercely on their chariots that they ended up with several broken bones, almost leaving their father without a successor. Caracalla seems to have been the favourite of the Empress, though in later years Julia Domna does come to Geta’s defence, however much in vain.
Julia Maesa
The Syrian women continued to hold power under the daughters of Julia Domna’s older sister, Julia Maesa who, herself, managed to save the dynasty for a time after the death of Caracalla. Julia Maesa was the mother of Julia Soaemias and Julia Mamaea, both mothers in their turn, of the last Severan emperors, Elagabalus and Alexander Severus. These powerful women held the family together. However, in the end, under Alexander Severus, the loyalty of the army was lost, and what once gave the Severans their ultimate power became their downfall.
There is a lot more to each of the people I have mentioned so briefly here and it is a part of Roman history that is not often explored. However, the Severans made their mark on the Empire and brought about massive changes, from artwork, to marriage for legionaries, to a crippling of the Senate and the extension of Roman citizenship to people all over the Roman Empire. They were strong, religious, varied and flawed, and all make for fantastic fiction!
Caracalla
In the next instalment of The World of Children of Apollo, we’ll be following Lucius Metellus Anguis to Ostia and Rome itself as he leaves North Africa to return home after many years. If you are up for a Roman holiday, be sure to check it out!
What is your favourite imperial Roman family? I’d love to hear from you in the comments below.
Remembrance Day is here, in Britain, Canada, and other Commonwealth nations. This is the time of year when we pin poppies on our jackets and hats to show that we remember the sacrifices of the men and women who have served their countries in war.
This is a solemn time of year; many people have known folks who have served in one conflict or another. For myself, my grandfather served in WWI as a young man, my other grandfather in the merchant navy in WWII. I have friends and relatives who have served in the more recent conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Every year, I try to write a special post around Remembrance Day because I feel it is utterly important not to forget. I often write about war and warriors. It’s something that is always at the front of my mind. I haven’t served in the military myself, but I have the utmost respect for those that have and do.
This year is the 100th anniversary of World War I, the conflict that began the wearing of poppies. Hard to believe it‘s been that long since the Battle of Liège, or since the earth shook with shelling and gunfire at Verdun and the Somme.
The Tower of London Remembers poppies in commemoration of the centenary of WWI
We remember the dead, and the ultimate sacrifices they have made, we bow our heads to them as the guns salute on November 11th.
But what about the living?
Troops in Afghanistan
In war, the casualties are monstrous, but there are those who do manage to come home. What about them?
Those are the troops I want us to think about today.
What prompted this was an article that a colleague of mine gave to me to read, an article that has indeed struck a chord.
PTSD stands for Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, and it is, perhaps always has been, a bane on the lives of warriors for ages. It was not always acknowledged as many former troops were simply told to ‘suck-it-up’. But there is a higher level of awareness now, with a variety of treatments being sought by, or offered to, veterans.
The man behind Theatre of War is Bryan Doerries. He has been studying and translating ancient Greek dramas for years.
What is Theatre of War? Using ancient Greek tragedies, particularly Ajax and Philoctetes by Sophocles, Doerries and a small group of rotating actors travel to military bases and hospitals around the world to perform readings of these plays.
There are no stages, props, or pageantry, just Doerries and about three actors sitting at a table. You might think this would be boring, and so might the troops who were ‘voluntold’ to go. But one cannot underestimate the language of Sophocles, the message, and the powerful delivery of the actors.
After attending these ‘performances’, veteran troops come forward to say that they completely relate to the pain of the warrior-characters in these plays, that they do not feel alone. These performances have been helping troops with PTSD with their healing.
Before we go further, here are a few statistics from the article to put things in perspective.
The number of U.S. soldiers who are committing suicide is at an unprecedented level with nearly one per day among those on active duty, and one per hour among veterans. The number is something like 8,000 a year at the moment.
The horrors of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)
When I read those numbers, my jaw dropped. It seems like there is no heroic return for many of our troops, no ticker-tape parade. It seems more likely that reintegration with civilian society may be more difficult and lonely than war itself.
In 2008, Doerries’ group received $3.7 million from the Pentagon to tour military installations around the world and they have staged more than 250 shows for 50,000 military personnel.
But what is it about Sophocles’ plays that modern troops relate to so much? What leaves these men and women in tears at the end of each performance?
Sophocles
One thing that the article highlighted for me, and of which I was not aware before, is that Sophocles himself was a warrior and commander, his father an Attic amour-maker. Sophocles had lived through the Greek victories over the Persians at Marathon and Salamis, and then served in the bloody years of the Peloponnesian War when the Greeks tore each other apart.
These were deeply traumatic times.
What hadn’t really clicked for me before reading this article was that with military service in Athens being compulsory among men, most of Sophocles’ audience would have been soldiers and veterans of bloody conflicts.
Sophocles spoke to his audience, he addressed the costs of war, the trauma of battle, the grief and rage that lingered long after the laurel wreaths had been handed-out, and the praise of one’s comrades had ceased.
The blood and chaos of warfare
Theatre of War mostly performs two plays for military audiences – Ajax and Philoctetes.
In Greek history/legend, Ajax was one of the greatest of the Greek warriors during the Trojan War. He was a good friend of Achilles, had won numerous battles for the Greeks, and survived one-on-one combat with the greatest of Troy’s heroes, Hector. Ajax inspired his brothers-in-arms.
But even the mighty fall, it seems. In Sophocles’ play, after nine years of fighting on foreign shores, Ajax, who carried Achilles’ body from the battlefield, has a disagreement with Odysseus about who should get Achilles’ god-made armour. Agamemnon and Menelaus decide to award the honour to Odysseus and this insult sends Ajax into a rage. He swears he will kill the sons of Atreus and Odysseus and any others who have insulted him.
Ajax carrying the body of Achilles from the battlefield
However, the gods are not on Ajax’s side. Athena drives him mad and he ends up slaughtering a host of animals in his tent, thinking they are his perceived enemies. Tecmessa, Ajax’s slave woman and consort, relays what happened:
As captives bulls and herdsmen’s dogs and sheep,
Of which a part he strangled, others felled
And cleft in twain; others again he lashed,
Treating those beasts like human prisoners.
Then rushing out, he with some phantom talked,
Launching against the sons of Atreus now,
Now ‘gainst Ulysses, ravings void of sense,
Boasting how he had paid their insults home.
Then once more rushing back into the tent,
By slow degrees to his right mind he came.
But when he saw the tent with carnage heaped,
Crying aloud, he smote his head, and then
Flung himself down amid the gory wreck,
And with clenched fingers grasped and tore his hair.
So a long time he sat and spoke no word.
At last, with imprecations terrible
If I refused, he bade me tell him all,
What had befallen and how it came about.
And I, my friends, o’erwhelmed with terror, told
All that I knew of that which he had done.
Thereat he uttered piercing cries of grief,
Such as had never come from him before,
For in loud lamentations to indulge
He ever held a craven weakling’s part,
And, stifling outcries, moaned not loud but deep,
Like the deep roaring of a wounded bull.
But in this plight, prostrate and desperate,
Refusing food and drink, my hero lies
Amidst the mangled bodies, motionless.
That he is brooding on some fell design,
His wails and exclamations plainly show.
But, O kind friends, ’twas to this end I came,
Enter the tent and aid me if ye can;
The words of friends are desperate sorrow’s cure.
(Sophocles, Ajax)
When the clouds of madness are swept from Ajax’s eyes, he is shamed by what he has done and goes into deep depression. I’m guessing that it must be the same for modern troops who come home and are haunted by the things that they have experienced, seen and done.
Ajax in anguish
We must remember that this is one of the greatest warriors in the army, second only to Achilles. He has Tecmessa, and he has a son, he has had honours heaped upon him, and yet he cannot deal with what he has done. The strain of 9 years of war have had their toll.
What now am I to do, since of the gods
I am abhorred, of the Hellenic host
Hated, to Troy and all this land a foe?
Shall I to their own quarrel leave the Kings,
Unmoor, and homeward cross the Aegean wave?
How can I face my father Telamon?
How can he bear to look upon the son
Who comes to him disgraced, without the prize,
When glory’s wreath has circled his own brow?
(Sophocles, Ajax)
Ajax decides he can no longer be among the living, such is his disgrace. He decides to leave his tent, despite Tecmessa’s protestations. Alone outside, on the earth surrounding Troy, he plants his sword in the ground, point upward, and kills himself…
O death, O death, come and thy office do;
Long, where I go, our fellowship will be.
O thou glad daylight, which I now behold,
O sun, that ridest in the firmament,
I greet you, and shall greet you never more.
O light, O sacred soil of my own land,
O my ancestral home, my Salamis,
Famed Athens and my old Athenian mates,
Rivers and springs and plains of Troy, farewell;
Farewell all things in which I lived my life;
‘Tis the last word of Ajax to you all,
When next I speak ’twill be to those below.
(Sophocles, Ajax)
Ajax’s suicide
In the video trailer for Theatre of War, which I link to below, you will see various troops coming forward at the end of a performance to talk about their own demons, and how they very much identified with Ajax and the torment he was feeling.
The suicide statistics I mentioned earlier are telling and terrifying, and they align with these emotions which Sophocles expressed through the hero Ajax over 2000 years ago.
It is wondrous, the therapeutic role that culture and the arts have to play. Doerries and the Theatre of War seem to have tapped into this on a visceral level to engage an audience that has been neglected in decades past. According to the article, the purpose is to “reach communities where intense feelings have been suppressed, in hopes of bringing people closer to articulating their suffering.”
From the numbers of troops, from all ranks, who come forward after the performances, Doerries and the Theatre of War are helping.
One has to wonder what else Sophocles might have produced, and to what effect? Only seven of Sophocles’ plays have come down to us. It is reckoned that he actually produced over 100. There’s a thought! What other issues might he have tackled which involved the ancient warrior and those around him?
One of the other plays that has survived is Philoctetes.
Philoctetes, in history/legend was one of the greatest archers in the ancient world. He was also the inheritor of the bow of Herakles, which that tragic hero bequeathed to Philoctetes when he was the only one who would help Herakles to light his funeral pyre. Another great hero who committed suicide.
Philoctetes had joined the expedition to Troy, but when they first arrived on the other side of the Aegean he was bitten by a snake on his foot. The wound festered and stank and Philoctetes was always in unimaginable pain.
But his comrades did not help him. Instead, because he was so loud and disruptive to the sacrifices and morale, they abandoned him on a desolate island to be alone with his pain and torment.
Philoctetes abandoned
Sophocles’ play is not about a soldier who is driven to suicide, but rather a soldier who is abandoned, whose friends are not there for him when he needs them most.
His former friends do return, however, after 10 years of war. But it is not for him that they return, but for the bow of Herakles, without which it is said the Greeks cannot win against the Trojans. Odysseus comes to Philoctetes with Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, to get the bow.
Naturally, Philoctetes is bitter and might have killed his comrades had not Neoptolemus stolen the bow at Odysseus’ insistence. Philoctetes is distraught at losing his one great possession, the thing which has kept him alive.
O pest, O bane, O of all villainy
Vile masterpiece, what hast thou done to me?
How am I duped? Wretch, hast thou no regard
For the unfortunate, the suppliant?
Thou tak’st my life when thou dost take my bow.
Give it me back, good youth, I do entreat.
O by thy gods, rob me not of my life.
Alas! he answers not, but as resolved
Upon denial, turns away his face.
O havens, headlands, lairs of mountain beasts,
That my companions here have been, O cliffs
Steep-faced, since other audience have I none,
In your familiar presence I complain
Of the wrong done me by Achilles’ son.
Home he did swear to take me, not to Troy.
Against his plighted faith the sacred bow
Of Heracles, the son of Zeus, he steals,
And means to show it to the Argive host.
He fancies that he over strength prevails,
Not seeing that I am a corpse, a shade,
A ghost. Were I myself, he had not gained
The day, nor would now save by treachery…
… I return
To thee disarmed, bereft of sustenance.
Deserted, I shall wither in that cell,
No longer slaying bird or sylvan beast
With yonder bow. Myself shall with my flesh
Now feed the creatures upon which I fed,
And be by my own quarry hunted down.
Thus shall I sadly render blood for blood,
And all through one that seemed to know no wrong.
Curse thee I will not till all hope is fled
Of thy repentance; then accursed die.
(Sophocles, Philoctetes)
Philoctetes has experienced not only pain and torment, but extreme isolation for an extended period of time. If he had been able, he likely would have taken out his anger and rage on his former comrades who had come to get him, those who had abandoned him, mainly Odysseus.
Neoptolemus and Odysseus take the bow of Herakles from Philoctetes
But the Gods decide to favour Philoctetes, and in the legend Herakles himself appears and urges his old friend to return to the war with his bow. This Philoctetes does, and he is one of the men who hides in the Trojan Horse. Sophocles’ play does not go into this, but focusses more on the pain of abandonment and isolation.
How many modern troops, or troops through the ages for that matter, would also have experienced such deep pain in isolation, real and figurative?
How many troops come home to family and friends who, despite the very best of intentions, just don’t understand what they have been through? They can’t understand unless they have been there themselves.
The Theatre of War and its performances of Ajax and Philoctetes seems to provide just what is needed for troops who are alone, and depressed, and dealing with PTSD and all the horrors that that entails – a forum of common understanding.
As I said before, I have not served in the military, so I can only imagine what our troops must be going through. However, there is a level on which I can understand some of this that is perhaps related.
It has to do with the study of history in general. Over the years, when I have felt isolated, out-of-place, depressed, or felt difficult emotion to some extreme, I’ve always found comfort in history, the people, the events.
Medieval battle
Somehow, studying and trying to understand history, whatever the period, has always helped me to feel more attuned to the world about me, less lonely. No matter how bad I might have thought things were, how little I might have been understood, history, the past, has always shown me that similar things, more difficult things, have happened to others. I think the knowledge of the challenges people in the past have overcome has always given me strength.
I can’t imagine my life without having studied the past. From those difficult teenage years to the present day, the past has always been my comfort and compass, and helped me to move forward however small my steps.
Perhaps that is what our troops, those veterans of extreme emotion, get from listening to their fellow warriors’ voices out of the past?
Bryan Doerries says it at the end of each of his group’s performances:
“Most importantly, if we had one message to deliver to you, two thousand four hundred years later, it’s simply this: You are not alone across time.”
So, this November 11th, and all through the year, I will ever spare a thought or prayer for warriors past and present. It shouldn’t matter what you think of the kings or politicians who sent them to battle for whatever ends.
If history has taught me anything, it is that warriors through the ages have faced incredible challenges and horrors, and for that they deserve our compassion.
Lest we forget…
Thank you for reading.
If you would like to learn a bit more about the Theatre of War, be sure to visit the website and spread the word. You can also watch the video trailer which shows some of the work they do and includes troops expressing their feelings post-performance. Powerful stuff!
This Friday night is the night that many children, and adults, have been looking forward to. It’s a time to get dressed up, carve a pumpkin, eat lots of candy and party it up incognito.
Halloween, as we know it, has evolved over time and like many of our current traditions, it has its roots in the distant past. There are many theories about which traditions or ancient festivals are at the heart of our modern Halloween or, All Hallow’s Eve.
Some maintain that it’s a Christian festival linked to All Saints’ Day on November first, and All Souls’ Day on November second. Historically, during these two Christian festivals, ‘soul-cakes’ would be made and handed out to the poor who would go door-to-door. This was seen as a way of praying for the souls that were then in Purgatory. Halloween is indeed a good time to pull out your copy of Dante’s Inferno.
All Souls’ Day (William Bouguereau 1859)
Another candidate thought to contribute to the origins of Halloween is the ancient Roman festival of Pomona. Unlike many Roman divinities who had their original Greek counterpart, Pomona was a uniquely Roman goddess or wood nymph who watched over and protected the fruit trees at this harvest time of year. The connection to Halloween seems a little less likely to me, but it’s still an interesting festival, and apples do figure largely in some Halloween activities. Who hasn’t bobbed for apples?
Pomona (Francesco Melzi, c. 1520)
However, when it comes to Halloween the most likely candidate for its origins still seems to be the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced ‘saw-wen’). This was a sacred time of year for the ancient Celts of Gaul, Britain, Scotland and Ireland – the time of the death of summer. In Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man it was known as Samhain, in Wales and Cornwall it was known as Calan Gaeaf and Kalan Gwav respectively.
Samhain Bonfire (photo from galleryhip.com)
This was the time of the harvest, of bounty, but also of death, which was a part of the cycle of life. It was also a time of year when the door to the Otherworld was opened, the veil at its thinnest. The souls of the dead were said to revisit their former homes where people would set places for them at table. Other beings, such as fairies, roamed the land as well, some good, some mischievous, and others harmful.
One way in which people, young and old, would avoid being noticed by spirits of the departed was by wearing a costume or ‘guising’ as it was called. If you had wronged a family member in the past, or even trampled a fairy ring, you were better off having a good costume!
The idea of trick-or-treating in 19th century Ireland was a way that folks went door-to-door gathering food as offerings for the fairies or fuel for the purifying bonfires of Samhain. Fire and its light served as protection during the thinning of the veil and the carving of pumpkins into Jack-O-lanterns served to scare spirits and fairies away.
Watch out for the Fairies!
Even if you don’t celebrate Samhain or Halloween in some way, shape or form, it is nonetheless interesting how ancient traditions survive thousands of years, from the feeding of the dead in ancient Egypt and Greece, to the Roman and Celtic festivals of the harvest. Halloween seems to be a melding of many different aspects of various cultural traditions.
So, Friday night, whether you are lighting a candle, carving a pumpkin, handing out candy or going all out with your ‘guising’, take a moment to remember that it’s not just some modern-day, consumer-driven tradition that you’re taking part in.
Remember that you’re taking part in an ancient rite at a sacred time of year for many cultures, and that maybe, just maybe, you are being watched from the other side of the veil between this world and the next…
That’s right, LYKOI – Carpathian Interlude Part II is now available from Amazon, Kobo, and iTunes.
For just a few days, Eagles and Dragons Publishing is offering LYKOI for a special launch price of $.99 cents before it goes up.
So, if any of you have friends and family who like ancient history and historical fantasy/horror, please do spread the word!
I’ve really enjoyed writing this book and interlacing the supernatural themes and beliefs of LYKOI with the historical events of the Varus disaster. Also, getting deeper into the minds of the scarred characters has truly been a fascinating and melancholy experience.
I’m currently writing Carpathian Interlude Part III, the working title of which is ‘THANATOS’.
This story is going to get even darker and delve into some very ancient myths around Zoroastrianism and the origins of Mithras. We will also find out who this Carpathian Lord actually is – and you won’t expect it!
Most importantly, I’d like to thank many of you for your support, encouragement and comments, the many personal e-mails, and your help in spreading the word about the series across social media. It all means a great deal, and the series’ success would not be possible without you.
This post of The World of LYKOI is when history and fantasy morph into the historical horror of the Carpathian Interlude series.
As we know, Emperor Augustus’ three legions, under the command of Publius Quinctilius Varus, were slaughtered in the forests of Germania in an unprecedented defeat for Rome. Fear has a stranglehold on the Roman world, including the emperor, and everyone looks to place blame, to find an explanation.
As Cassius Dio said, it “could have been due to nothing else than the wrath of some divinity.” What else could it have been? The omens were terrible. According to ancient sources, the temple on the Field of Mars in Rome was struck by lightning, locusts invaded the city, and a statue of Victory in the north turned its back on Germania. Surely a bunch of German barbarians under the command of a traitor could not have done this alone? A god must have been involved!
Or something else…
Etruscan urn showing wolf man emerging from the Underworld
This question is something that the historical fantasy novelist truly relishes. The opportunity to put hindsight and modern doubt aside, and step into the mindset of the ancient world, replete with all of its folk and religious beliefs, its strong superstitions and maybe, just maybe, some ancient knowledge of which we are completely ignorant.
What if Arminius and the Germanic tribesmen received help from someone… something… who also had an interest in halting Rome’s northern advance?
Lykoi is the Greek word for ‘wolves’, and in this story they are not the shy, intelligent, loyal, and enigmatic animals we know them to be today.
Throughout history, the wolf has been demonized and hunted to the point of extinction in most of Europe. Every child in the west has grown up with stories of evil wolves haunting the forests surrounding settlements, slavering beasts who slaughter livestock and people alike and who revel in the blood of their kills.
And what takes the horror of the wolf one step further? – A man who turns into a wolf – a Werewolf.
In doing the research for LYKOI, I discovered that the legend of the Werewolf was not a medieval fabrication as I had previously thought. In the ancient world, there are also references to Lycanthropes, or Werewolves.
In the 5th century B.C. the historian Herodotus wrote about a people known as the Neuri who lived in the Scythian lands:
The Neuri follow Scythian customs; but one generation before the advent of Darius’ army, they happened to be driven from their country by snakes; for their land produced great numbers of these, and still more came down on them out of the desolation on the north, until at last the Neuri were so afflicted that they left their own country… It may be that these people are wizards; for the Scythians, and the Greeks settled in Scythia, say that once a year every one of the Neuri becomes a wolf for a few days and changes back again to his former shape. Those who tell this tale do not convince me; but they tell it nonetheless, and swear to its truth. (Herodotus; Histories Book IV 105)
Herodotus could be a picky historian, so for him to include this reference in his work, while expressing his own doubt at the same time, speaks to the possibility that the belief of the locals where he obtained this story was strong indeed.
But there are stories of wolf men going even farther back. The Roman poet, Ovid, writing during the reign of Emperor Augustus, recounts the tale of the Arkadian King, Lycaon, in his famous work Metamorphoses.
King Lycaon was a Peloponnesian king from c. 1550 B.C. He was an arrogant tyrant who tried to pull a fast-one on Zeus [Jupiter], the king of the gods, by feeding the immortal human flesh. Here is Ovid’s account in the god’s own words:
I traversed Maenalus where fearful dens abound, over Lycaeus, wintry slopes of pine tree groves, across Cyllene steep; and as the twilight warned of night’s approach, I stopped in that Arcadian tyrant’s realms and entered his inhospitable home:—and when I showed his people that a God had come, the lowly prayed and worshiped me, but this Lycaon mocked their pious vows and scoffing said; ‘A fair experiment will prove the truth if this be god or man.’ and he prepared to slay me in the night,—to end my slumbers in the sleep of death. So made he merry with his impious proof; but not content with this he cut the throat of a Molossian hostage sent to him, and partly softened his still quivering limbs in boiling water, partly roasted them on fires that burned beneath. And when this flesh was served to me on tables, I destroyed his dwelling and his worthless Household Gods, with thunder bolts avenging. Terror-struck he took to flight, and on the silent plains is howling in his vain attempts to speak; he raves and rages and his greedy jaws, desiring their accustomed slaughter, turn against the sheep – still eager for their blood. His vesture separates in shaggy hair, his arms are changed to legs; and as a wolf he has the same grey locks, the same hard face, the same bright eyes, the same ferocious look. (Ovid; Metamorphoses, Book I, 216)
In mythology it was not unusual to find the gods punishing humans by turning them into animals, but the example of Lycaon is noteworthy. His sacrilege to Zeus, his hubris, is unforgiveable. The king of the gods could have turned the wicked mortal into anything, any animal or insect, but Zeus chose to turn Lycaon into a wolf man, a being in pain who could not be satiated, who kept his awareness despite not being able to speak. Lycaon is turned into a beast who preys upon beasts, ‘terror-struck’ and yet also terrifying.
Zeus turns Lycaon into a wolf
There was, it seemed, always a price to pay for being turned into a Werewolf, or ‘Lykos’. It was a painful, horrifying existence.
Another example from ancient literature that stands out is Gaius Petronius’ Satyricon, believed to originate from sometime during the reign of Nero in the 1st century A.D. Petronius’ work is one of the few surviving Roman novels, and it is mostly a satire of life in ancient Rome.
However, one of the episodes involves a character who heads-out one night to his woman’s home with a soldier friend who, as they walk along the road, turns into a Werewolf. Far from being a humorous episode, Petronius writes in detail about what happens:
I seized my opportunity, and persuaded a guest in our house to come with me as far as the fifth milestone. He was a soldier, and as brave as Hell. So we trotted off about cockcrow; the moon shone like high noon. We got among the tombstones: my man went aside to look at the epitaphs, I sat down with my heart full of song and began to count the graves. Then when I looked round at my friend, he stripped himself and put all his clothes by the roadside. My heart was in my mouth, but I stood like a dead man. He made a ring of water round his clothes and suddenly turned into a wolf. Please do not think I am joking; I would not lie about this for any fortune in the world. But as I was saying, after he had turned into a wolf, he began to howl, and ran off into the woods. At first I hardly knew where I was, then I went up to take his clothes; but they had all turned into stone. No one could be nearer dead with terror than I was. But I drew my sword and went slaying shadows all the way till I came to my love’s house. I went in like a corpse, and nearly gave up the ghost, the sweat ran down my legs, my eyes were dull, I could hardly be revived. My dear Melissa was surprised at my being out so late, and said, ‘If you had come earlier you might at least have helped us; a wolf got into the house and worried all our sheep, and let their blood like a butcher. But he did not make fools of us, even though he got off; for our slave made a hole in his neck with a spear.’ When I heard this, I could not keep my eyes shut any longer, but at break of day I rushed back to my master Gaius’s house like a defrauded publican, and when I came to the place where the clothes were turned into stone, I found nothing but a pool of blood. But when I reached home, my soldier was lying in bed like an ox, with a doctor looking after his neck. I realized that he was a werewolf, and I never could sit down to a meal with him afterwards, not if you had killed me first. Other people may think what they like about this; but may all your guardian angels punish me if I am lying. (Petronius; Satyricon 62)
Petronius’ character was either drinking some heady wine that night, or else his soldier friend had other major issues.
The point of these texts is that there was an awareness of Werewolves in the ancient world, or of Lycanthropy, a psychological disease that the famous physician Galen apparently wrote about, in which a person believed they were part wolf and had the ravenous appetite to match that belief.
Now back to the LYKOI and the Carpathian Interlude.
The Varus disaster was an unbelievable event, behind which much darker powers are at play. Throughout this series, the powers of Light (Mithras and Rome) and Dark (The Carpathian Lord and the ‘Barbarians’) are locked a battle that has been raging for ages.
And Gaius Justus Vitalis, his men, and the boy, Daxos, are caught up in the middle of it. The war rages on many fronts – in the dark of the forests of Germania and Carpathia, on the battlefields of the frontier, and mostly in the hearts and minds of Mithras’ own soldiers, his Heliodromus and his Miles, Gaius and his men.
This is a story that will haunt you and leave the screams of Rome’s dead and dying men ringing in your ears for a long time to come, just as it did for the people of Rome over two thousand years ago.
Have you ever wondered why forests are so often the setting for nightmares?
Think about it. It’s true.
I remember a recurring nightmare that I had when I was a child: I’m in a dark forest, walking by myself. My feet crunch on a carpet of dead leaves in a slow, steady rhythm. Then a second set of footsteps, comes into my hearing, only they’re faster. They’re pursuing me. I begin to panic, and run. I yell but the woods devour my cries. I believe someone is chasing me, and my heart is close to bursting… And then I wake up.
That might not seem scary now, but when you are 6 it’s another story.
Nightmares are fascinating and curious. As a child I didn’t know that the quickening steps of my forest pursuer were really the sound of the blood pulsing in my ear as it pressed into my pillow. Those woods were terrifying to me.
Think about the woods again. How many of you have read or heard scary stories that take place in a forest? For ages, the woods or any kind of forest, have been shadow realms of the unknown, places of magic and nightmare, of beasts and death.
But there is a reason why forests have become such monsters in and of themselves. Not all tales of horror in the woods are fabricated by active, childish minds.
As I mentioned last week, the Carpathian Interlude series revolves around a particular event in Roman history known as the Varus Disaster. It took place in A.D. 9, during the reign of Emperor Augustus, and it was truly the stuff of nightmares.
Public Quinctilius Varus was a patrician Roman general and member of the imperial circle who had been put in charge of the administration of Germania, which had only recently been tentatively subdued by Rome. Varus had previously had success governing provinces in Africa, Syria, and Judea, so it was believed he would be more than capable of handling Germania.
Varus is said to have also had a reputation for being a tyrant who inflicted brutal punishment on the people he was governing and squeezing taxes out of.
It’s safe to say that Varus thought he was quite secure in his position. He was a skilled administrator by Roman standards, had a proven track record, the bloodline to back it up, and a staff of trusted advisors.
Among the people on Varus’ staff was a man named Arminius. Does that name ring a bell?
Arminius was the son of Segimerus, the chieftain of the Cherusci, a Germanic tribe that had bent the knee to Rome. As surety for their father’s good behaviour, Arminius and his younger brother Flavus were sent to Rome when they were just boys. We’ll focus on Arminius.
Arminius grew up in Rome, learned the ways of Roman life, and politics, and martial prowess. He began to make a name for himself and was admitted to the Equestrian order to become a cavalry officer.
When Varus was assigned to Germania, Arminius went with him as one of his most trusted advisors and skilled officers. In fact, it’s said that Varus and Arminius regularly dined together; no doubt Varus valued Arminius’ advice in governing the lands of his former people.
This is the seed of the nightmare of which I spoke earlier.
In the late summer of A.D. 9, Publius Quinctilius Varus led three legions (the XVII, XVIII, and XIX Legions) deep into Germania to collect taxes and tribute. Varus also had with him six auxiliary cohorts, three cavalry alae, slaves, and camp followers consisting of women, children, merchants and tradesmen. This was a large, slow-moving army. Because they were in a dense forest, the line of march was thin, and stretched over 15-20 kilometres.
But Varus felt he had little to worry about and was so confident that he didn’t event send scouts ahead.
Then Arminius brought word of an uprising to Varus who sent the former to take care of it. Varus was warned against Arminius by another German advisor, Segestes, who was actually a relative of Arminius. But Varus ignored Segestes’ warnings not to trust Arminius and so the nightmare really began.
Rather than supressing the uprising, Arminius instead disappeared into the forest to rally the allied Germanic tribes and attack the Roman forces.
The mountains had an uneven surface broken by ravines, and the trees grew close together and very high. Hence the Romans, even before the enemy assailed them, were having a hard time of it felling trees, building roads, and bridging places that required it. They had with them many wagons and many beasts of burden as in time of peace; moreover, not a few women and children and a large retinue of servants were following them… For the Romans were not proceeding in any regular order, but were mixed-in helter-skelter with the wagons and the unarmed, and so, being unable to form readily anywhere in a body, and being fewer at every point than their assailants, they suffered greatly and could offer no resistance at all. (Cassius Dio, The Roman History 20)
I thought my nightmare in the forest was horrifying.
Ambush in the Teutoburg Forest
For three days the Romans were ambushed by the Germanic tribesmen. Three days in the tangle of the Teutoburg Forest, the bogs and brambles, the rivers, and marshes, violent storms and… the dark.
Varus, the legions, and the camp followers had no chance. Arminius had learned how Romans fought, how to weaken them, and how to defeat them. He had laid his plans well, and after three days of desperate fighting, the Romans made their last stand at a place known today as Kalkriese.
In the end, Varus and some of the other officers took their own lives rather than fall into the enemy’s hands. Perhaps, as well as fear, it was Varus’ shame that let him to do such a thing. The total number of Roman dead? – about 20,000.
… three legions were cut to pieces with their general, his lieutenants, and all the auxiliaries… they say that he [Augustus] was so greatly affected that for several months in succession he cut neither his beard nor his hair, and sometimes he would dash his head against a door, crying: “Quinctilius Varus, give me back my legions!” And he observed the day of the disaster each year as one of sorrow and mourning… (Suetonius; Life of Augustus 23)
There is no mistaking that this was indeed a real-life nightmare for Rome, and this crushing defeat struck fear into the hearts of everyone from the lowest Suburan sewer rat right the way up to Augustus himself.
Kalkriese – the site of the Legions’ last stand
Years later, when Germanicus went into Germania to find the remains of the fallen legions, he came to the site of the struggle.
…they [Germanicus and his men] visited the mournful scenes, with their horrible sights and associations. Varus’s first camp with its wide circumference and the measurements of its central space clearly indicated the handiwork of three legions. Further on, the partially fallen rampart and the shallow fosse suggested the inference that it was a shattered remnant of the army which had there taken up a position. In the centre of the field were the whitening bones of men, as they had fled, or stood their ground, strewn everywhere or piled in heaps. Near, lay fragments of weapons and limbs of horses, and also human heads, prominently nailed to trunks of trees. In the adjacent groves were the barbarous altars, on which they had immolated tribunes and first-rank centurions. Some survivors of the disaster who had escaped from the battle or from captivity, described how this was the spot where the officers fell, how yonder the eagles were captured, where Varus was pierced by his first wound, where too by the stroke of his own ill-starred hand he found for himself death. They pointed out too the raised ground from which Arminius had harangued his army, the number of gibbets for the captives, the pits for the living, and how in his exultation he insulted the standards and eagles. (Tacitus, Annals 1.61)
People must have thought that the gods had turned their backs on Rome.
So how does this fit with the Carpathian Interlude?
When I think of the nightmare of the Varus disaster, what it must have felt like for the troops and camp followers who knew that the barbarians would kill them at any moment, I feel terror for them. The shock, the surprise, the desperation as people were dying all around them in such horrible ways must have been truly overwhelming.
I wanted to take the terror one step further. What if Arminius had more than just the element of surprise on his side? What if he had allied himself with a darker, more powerful enemy in his desperation to crush Rome and assume hegemony over the Germanic tribes?
This is the path I’ve taken in turning this historic event into historical horror.
Cassius Dio describes the omens that Rome witnessed in the aftermath of the disaster, the fearful belief of Augustus and others that the gods were indeed angry:
For a catastrophe so great and sudden as this, it seemed to him [Augustus], could have been due to nothing else than the wrath of some divinity; moreover, by reason of the portents which occurred both before the defeat and afterwards, he was strongly inclined to suspect some superhuman agency. (Cassius Dio, The Roman History 24)
The Kalkriese Mask – worn by one of Varus’ doomed troops
In LYKOI – Carpathian Interlude Part II, it’s not a god that has laid the Romans low in the wooded shadows of Germania. The enemy that has defeated Rome is the one that Gaius has dreaded ever since his battle with the Immortui in Part I.
Here is the description for LYKOI – Carpathian Interlude Part II:
In the year A.D. 9, three legions of the Emperor Augustus are massacred in the forests of Germania. It is a defeat that fills the heart of the Roman Empire with terror.
Meanwhile, in Rome, Gaius Justus Vitalis and his surviving men are struggling with the trauma of their battle with the Immortui in the Carpathian Mountains, an experience that has changed them forever.
When shades of the dead whisper to Gaius that something more sinister and terrible is responsible for Rome’s recent defeat in Germania, he knows that his days of peace are numbered.
Aware of Gaius and his men’s unique experiences, the Emperor orders them across the Danube frontier to discover what has happened to the lost legions, and to bring the perpetrators to justice. The stakes are high, and Gaius knows that if he does not succeed, he and his family are doomed.
With a handful of warriors, and a boy who may hold the key to his enemy’s defeat, Gaius crosses the frontier to hunt down the truth behind the horrors he suspects.
Only when fear is at its most intense, can true heroism come to the light.
LYKOI’s release date is October 25th, 2014, but it is available for pre-order from Amazon, Kobo, and iTunes/iBooks if your interest is piqued. It will be released at a special launch price for a short period time.
Also, beginning on October 12th, IMMORTUI (Carpathian Interlude Part I) will be available for $.99 cents on Amazon and for Free on Kobo and iTunes for a short time. If you haven’t read it, you’ll want to take advantage of this special offer.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this sneak peek at the world of LYKOI. I’ll be back next week with a look at what Gaius and his men will face in the dark forests of Germania.
Thank you for reading!
If you are interested in more of the history of the Varus disaster, as well as the finds from Kalkriese, the video below is an excellent documentary for getting stuck into the nightmare:
Summer is dead, it’s golden sun-splashed days relegated to the realm of distant memory.
I’ve been writing a lot, focussing on Eagles and Dragons Book III – Warriors of Epona. The first draft of that book is finished and, like idyllic, warm summer hours, it will now be set aside for a while.
October has arrived and, as is usual, my thoughts have turned dark. What else can you expect from the month in which the trees shed shrivelled leaves, the month in which our ancestors believed the dead walk among us?
It should come as no surprise then that I am now drawn back into the Carpathian Interlude.
Part II of the series is called LYKOI (pronounced ‘LEE-kee’), and it will soon be ready for release. LYKOI promises to take the reader to a dark, horror-filled place that would fill any Roman legionary with fear.
In the ancient world, men of war could be especially superstitious. When major disasters or defeats would occur, many would seek explanations that our modern minds might see as supernatural.
Fear of foreign gods and darker powers beyond the realm of their knowledge was not uncommon. When you control the greatest army the world has ever seen, and you experience a crushing defeat, you naturally look for an explanation.
It is precisely this fear and superstition that inspired me to write the Carpathian Interlude series which, from the larger perspective of the Empire, revolves around one particular event – the Varus Disaster. I’ll talk about that event next week.
Writing historical horror has allowed me to do something different with historical fantasy. It has allowed me to experiment a little, to explore different types of character trauma and beliefs. It’s a nice change of pace and an opportunity for me, as a writer, to dip into some darker themes.
In IMMORTUI, the first part of the Carpathian Interlude, Gaius Justus Vitalis and his men head into the Carpathian Mountains in search of their comrades who were on a patrol north of the Danube frontier. There they meet an enemy unlike any other they’ve ever met – Zombies.
In LYKOI, Gaius Justus Vitalis and his group of ‘broken’ warriors are ordered to investigate the massacre of thousands of Romans in Germania. But this time, it’s not the undead that Gaius and his men must face.
If you like Werewolves, this is a story you won’t want to miss.
So, when will LYKOI be released?
October 25th, 2014 is the official launch day for this book – something new to add to the Halloween reading list!
For now, I’m very pleased to unveil the cover for LYKOI – Carpathian Interlude Part II…
Many thanks once again to Laura at LLPIX Photography for putting together a suitably-dark cover.
When I write about history my work is inspired by human behaviour and the people of the past, but a large part of my inspiration comes from the remains of civilizations that I have seen.
Whenever I have been fortunate enough to travel, the memories of my visits to ancient and medieval ruins have stayed with me as a sort of vivid library of information and emotion through which I can browse whenever I need to.
Often, sites will give me a particular feel or ‘vibe’ for lack of a better term. I can well imagine the voices of a crowded agora, or the cheers of a packed amphitheatre. You can’t help it. The past speaks to you in these places.
Roman Bath
The other day I read a fragment of an 8th century old-English Saxon poem called ‘The Ruin’. This fragment, which survives from the Exeter Book, is a sort of elegy for the Roman city of Bath. It is incomplete, but very interesting to read, even a little sad. Here it is in translation:
The Ruin
Wondrous is this foundation – the fates have broken
and shattered this city; the work of giants crumbles.
The roofs are ruined, the towers toppled,
frost in the mortar has broken the gate,
torn and worn and shorn by the storm,
eaten through with age. The earth’s grasp
holds the builders, rotten, forgotten,
the hard grip of the ground, until a hundred
generations of men are gone. This wall, rust-stained
and moss-covered, has endured one kingdom after another,
stood in the storm, steep and tall, then tumbled.
The foundation remains, felled by the weather,
it fell…..
grimly ground up ….
……cleverly created….
…… a crust of mud surrounded …
….. put together a swift
and subtle system of rings; one of great wisdom
wondrously bound the braces together with wires.
Bright were the buildings, with many bath-houses,
noble gables and a great noise of armies,
many a meadhall filled with men’s joys,
until mighty fate made an end to all that.
The slain fell on all sides, plague-days came,
and death destroyed all the brave swordsmen;
the seats of their idols became empty wasteland,
the city crumbled, its re-builders collapsed
beside their shrines. So now these courts are empty,
and the rich vaults of the vermilion roofs
shed their tiles. The ruins toppled to the ground,
broken into rubble, where once many a men
glad-minded, gold-bright, bedecked in splendor,
proud, full of wine, shone in his war-gear,
gazed on treasure, on silver, on sparking gems,
on wealth, on possessions, on the precious stone,
on the bright capital of a broad kingdom.
Stone buildings stood, the wide-flowing stream
threw off its heat; a wall held it all
in its bright bosom where the baths were,
hot in its core, a great convenience.
They let them gush forth …..
the hot streams over the great stones,
under…
until the circular pool …. hot…
…..where the baths were.
Then….
….. that is a noble thing,
how …. the city ….
(translation by R. M. Liuzza)
The Exeter Book
I’ve often wondered what people in the Middle Ages might have thought of the Roman ruins that were all around them. They probably used the Roman roads (and we still do today!), walls, foundations, and town plans, but I had never really read a primary medieval source that lamented the ruins of Rome’s past in Britain in such a way.
Artist’s reconstruction of Aquae Sulis
I have to admit that I was a little surprised to read ‘The Ruin’ and detect a hint of sadness as the poet describes what remains of the once-great town of Aqae Sulis. I feel as though he is expressing how I might have felt seeing that wondrous, crumbling city.
The poet has resuscitated Roman Bath for us at a moment in time, after the days of its glory. I can see the grass growing out of the cracks of the paving slabs, and the moss filling the spaces where mortar has crumbled from walls. I can hear ravens cawing from atop the city’s carcass as terra cotta roof tiles slither and slide from their perches to crash on the ground below.
This is yet another interesting perspective to keep in mind when visiting ancient sites – how might other people in history have viewed these places, depending on the perspective of their own age in time?
It’s something worth thinking on.
Thank you for reading!
Let us know what you think about this poem by leaving a comment below.
Anglo Saxon poet
If you want to hear what the poem sounds like in old-English, here is a video of a young historian reading it. She speaks for about a minute before she starts reading the poem, but hang in there. It’s well worth the wait! What a beautiful language.
On this blog I tend to speak mainly about ancient history and mythology because those are the periods and subjects in which I have been writing for the last few years.
However, this blog is about bringing the ancient and medieval worlds to life. So, this week, we’re going to step forward in time to the Middle Ages.
In truth, my love of history began with the Middle Ages, especially the period from the Norman Conquest to the death of King John in A.D. 1216. This period has it all – the Norman invasion, the Crusades, the Domesday Book, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II, Richard the Lionheart, Robin Hood etc. etc. The list goes on!
One of the things that really sparked my curiosity about this period was the Bayeux Tapestry.
The first time I saw the Bayeux Tapestry was during the opening crawl of the movie Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.
I can still conjure the feeling I had as the movie started to roll and the tapestry started to show on the screen to the thrilling soundtrack by Michael Kamen (CLICK HERE to listen to the music online). To me, it was history and movie magic!
I loved seeing the scenes of Norman ships sailing across the Channel, the Norman cavalry with their unique kite shields bearing down on the axe-wielding Saxon forces – that one work of embroidered art fired my interest in an age.
Norman cavalry charge
Of course when I was seeing these images for the first time, I had no idea what I was looking at. My research began immediately at my local library where I took out books on the castles of England, medieval warfare, and the Bayeux Tapestry itself.
But what is the Bayeux Tapestry exactly? Who commissioned it? When was it made?
The tapestry is actually a work of embroidery that depicts events leading up to, and including, the Norman invasion of England and the defeat of the last Saxon King, Harold Godwinson, by William Duke of Normandy at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. From then on, William was known as ‘William the Conqueror’, the first Norman king of England.
Hastings Abbey and Battlefield
The Bayeux Tapestry is generally thought to have been commissioned in the 1070s by William’s half-brother, Bishop Odo of Bayeux, later Earl of Kent. This famous piece of embroidered cloth is a whopping 70 metres long (230 ft.) and is housed in the Bayeux Tapestry Museum in France.
One theory states that the creators of the tapestry were inspired by Trajan’s Column on a trip to Rome. This seems reasonable as the Bayeux Tapestry illustrates the events of a conquest over a certain period of time. Just as Trajan’s Column depicts that emperor’s conquest of Dacia, so does the tapestry depict the Norman conquest of England.
Works of art like the Bayeux Tapestry (and Trajan’s column) were created not long after the actual events, and because of this contemporaneity we have much more knowledge of events, people, places, arms and armour. However, as with most historical sources, we need to keep in mind that these were created by the victors of these conflicts.
Trajan’s Column in Rome
But the Bayeux Tapestry is unusual in that it does not try lambaste the Saxons or Harold. In fact, it shows Harold being crowned King of England, and the Saxons fighting bravely on the battlefield against the heavy Norman cavalry.
Below is a fantastic video in which the creators have animated the Bayeux Tapestry from start to finish. It’s a fantastic new way to look at this work of art. You can watch the video below or click HERE.
A nice touch the creators of this video added was the comet flying over the length of the tapestry. In the middle ages, comets were thought to be ill-omened, and the one seen prior to the Battle of Hastings was, some believe, Haley’s Comet.
Whatever the meaning, it seemed that even though both Harold and William had claims to the English throne, God was on the Conqueror’s side that day in 1066.
The Death of Harold
What are your thoughts on the Bayeux Tapestry? Have you seen it yourself?
Be sure to click on ‘Leave a comment’ below, under the social media buttons, to let us know your thoughts!
Words are fascinating to me. I work with them every day. I read them, hear them, write them, and ponder them. Together they help me to convey the stories that I have within me. They help me to communicate what is inside my head, and hopefully they inspire.
Some words are more powerful than others. Some words teach as well. Some words survive the test of time and the evolution of language. Why is that?
Why do some words get twisted with time so that, inevitably, their meanings are changed or watered down? I’ve studied different languages, but not linguistics, so there is probably an easy answer to this question that I just don’t know.
The other day I was reminded of a word that my eyes had previously glossed over without taking any real notice.
I’m talking about the Greek word, philotimo.
Φιλότιμο
This isn’t just any word. It’s an ideal, a concept, a way of living.
It’s also an ancient word that is said to have no counterpart in any other language.
Philotimo has survived the test of time from ancient Greece to the present day. And to many, it is as powerful as ever.
What does it mean? Very basically, philotimo means ‘love of honour’. But there is so much more to this concept. When Greeks hear this word, the things they are reminded of include a deep love of family, of country, of one’s society and the greater good. It isn’t just about personal honour, because no one person is an island.
Philotimo, at its heart, is about goodness. It’s about selflessness and the force that drives individuals to think about the people and the world around them. It’s no wonder that such a concept came out of the birthplace of democracy.
As a citizen of a polis, a society, it was one’s duty to do what was needed to better, not one’s personal state, but the state of those around you, whether it was your family, your neighbourhood, your city-state, or your country.
Thales
A quote that is commonly ascribed to the pre-Socratic philosopher, Thales of Miletus (c. 624-546 B.C.) says this:
“Philotimo to the Greek is like breathing. A Greek is not a Greek without it. He might as well not be alive.”
What I find interesting is that this word, and all the meanings ascribed to it, has been expressed since the 7th century B.C., and perhaps earlier. The importance of philotimo survived the polytheistic world of ancient Greece, through the Roman Empire, and on through the Byzantine and Christian Middle Ages to our modern world.
That’s not to say philotimo is an easy way of life. I suspect that few are able to act with pure philotimo in their lives on a day-to-day basis.
I’m half Greek, and I love Greece and Greek culture, but I think that many Greeks, past and present, do not put enough weight on Thales’ words above. I doubt the sad state of Greece is due to the philotimo of the crooked politicians and greedy bankers who have crippled the country and brought the average hard-working person to the edge of ruin, while they live the good life. Their lack of philotimo has done that to the country.
However, it’s the philotimo of the people that will get them through the trials they are currently facing. I don’t usually talk politics here, but it seems apt in this discussion.
I’ve been thinking about events in history where this idea of selflessness and honour can be seen, where philotimo was practiced. There are many.
300 Spartans at Thermopylae – by Peter Connolly
The first that came to my mind was the stand of the 300 Spartans, and 700 Thespians at Thermopylae in 480 B.C. Leonidas and the rest of the warriors knew they were marching to meet certain death, but they went anyway, knowing that the delay, and example, they would provide would allow the rest of Greece to rally and meet the Persians.
In the Iliad, Hector goes out to meet Achilles in single combat, even though he knows he is going to die. He does it for his family’s honour, for his people, his country.
All wars are full of stories of horror and atrocity, and we hear a lot about those. They are the subject of books, and they are splattered all over the media and movie theatres.
Thermopylae today
We need to hear more about acts of philotimo, the acts of goodness in the midst of brutality, despite chaos. Closer to home on the historical timeline, the Greek resistance to the fascists in World War II is another example of people stepping up and laying their lives on the line for the greater good. Think of all those allied troops who bounded out of the trenches into enemy machine gun fire because they believed in the goodness they were fighting for.
Goodness and honour transcend religion, culture, politics, and financial status. The Greeks may have given it a word, and shaped the concept, but philotimo is in essence the best of the human race. Considering that we are, more often than not, an imperfect species, that is saying something.
It can be displayed by warriors on the battlefields of history, or by children in the school playground. Grand acts on the world stage can display philotimo, as can the youth who gives up his or her seat to an elderly person on the subway.
The Trenches in WWI
I had forgotten the word philotimo, but I would hope my actions reflect its presence in me, and in the characters I create. I want my stories to be inhabited by men, women and children who display the ideals of love, courage, honour and goodness that the word philotimo embodies.
If you would like to hear more about the concept of philotimo, there is a great video by the OXI Day Foundation in the USA. ‘OXI Day’ or ‘No Day’ is the day that Greece refused to help the Nazis and declared for the good side in World War II. You can see the video here:
What are your thoughts on the concept of philotimo?
Is there a particular event in history that you feel illustrates this ideal of living with honour that you would like to share? Please tell us in the comments below!
