The Curse of the Werewolf

Author(s):  
Daniel Ogden

This chapter traces the persistent association between werewolves on the one hand and witches and sorcerers on the other in the ancient world (and does same, in a brief way, for the earliest medieval werewolf tales). The Homeric Circe’s wolves should be understood as men transformed by the witch. Despite some modern claims, this was the position of the Odyssey itself, as well as the subsequent ancient tradition. Herodotus’ treatment of the Neuri not only asserts that they are sorcerers that turn themselves into wolves, but also implies that transformation into a wolf is a thing more generally characteristic of sorcerers. Like the Neuri, Virgil’s (Egyptian?) Moeris is projected as a sorcerer that specialises in turning himself into a wolf. Imperial Latin literature provides us with examples of individual witch-figures transforming into wolves, notably Tibullus’ bawd-witch and Propertius’ Acanthis, but, beyond this, there seems to have been a set of thematic associations between werewolfism and the terrible strix-witches. It may have been thought, in particular, that they had a propensity to transform themselves not only into child-stealing and child-maiming screech-owls or screech-owl-like creatures, but also into wolves. The notion that werewolfism could sometimes be effected by a divine curse, as in the Arcadian traditions and as in Aesop’s fable, was perhaps a variation or extension of the more typical and established idea that it could proceed from the cursing of a witch or a sorcerer.

1943 ◽  
Vol 37 (3-4) ◽  
pp. 101-111
Author(s):  
F. A. Todd

Blockhead or or Baldhead?(i) Petron. Sat. 39. 12: ‘in Aquario (nascuntur) copones et cucurbitae’.(ii) Apul.Met. I. 15: ‘nos cucurbitae caput non habemus ut pro te moriamur’.Cucurbita in its literal use is the name of many varieties of the numerous family of Cucurbitaceae, as one may learn, e.g. from Plin. Nat. Hist. xix. It is also the name of the cupping instrument called by Juvenal, xiv. 58, uentosa cucurbita, for which see Mayor's note ad loc. For other metaphorical uses of the name, Forcellini and the Thes. Ling. Lat. cite only the two passages quoted above; of these two, Lewis and Short cite only the former. Lexicographers and editors,1 comparing the one passage with the other, concur in the view that the cucurbita is the symbol of stupidity, and that a stupid man may be called a cucurbita, as in Petronius, or be said cucurbitae caput habere, as in Apuleius. At first sight their interpretation of the Apuleian phrase is plausible, for it makes tolerable sense in the context and appears to be supported by such modern expressions as ‘pumpkin-head’ and Kürbiskopf and κεχλι κολοκνθνιον, all of which liken the head of a stupid man to a pumpkin or other gourd which, though bearing some resemblance to a human head, encloses not a brain but an insensate mass of pulp and seeds. But ‘to have a pumpkin-head’ and ‘to be a pumpkin’ are prima facie very different, for the latter equates the man himself with the cucurbita, whereas it is only qua substitute for a head that the cucurbita can typify stupidity; and when it is further observed that in the Petronian passage cucurbitae so interpreted accords ill with the context, it becomes clear that some other explanation must be sought.


Author(s):  
Andrea Possamai

The present essay aims, on the one hand, to recall the reasons of anti-naturalism, intended in a metaphysical perspective, of a large part of medieval philosophical and theological reflection and, on the other hand, to show how the same type of problems, specifically those concerning the possible mutability or immutability of the past, can be employed in favour of various conflicting positions on the matter. To demonstrate this, reference was made to some thinkers who could represent emblematic positions on the theme, in particular: Pliny the Elder for the ancient world, Augustine of Hippo, Peter Damian, Bonaventure and Thomas Aquinas for the medieval era.


1924 ◽  
Vol 14 (1-2) ◽  
pp. 142-157
Author(s):  
Jocelyn Toynbee

The history of art in the Roman period is the history of the interplay of two opposite tendencies. On the one hand there is the Roman taste for realism and accurate representation, combining with the Italian love of naturalism; on the other, the fostering of the Greek tradition of idealism in art both by the Greek artists who worked at Rome and by the Greek enthusiasts among their Roman employers. After the culmination of Roman historical art under the Flavians and Trajan, the second century, as is well known, was marked by a great reaction in favour of things Hellenic, and it is with one small part of the Greek revival under Hadrian and the Antonines, when Greek art blossomed afresh for the last time during the history of the ancient world, that I propose to deal in this paper.


1943 ◽  
Vol 36 (3-4) ◽  
pp. 101-111 ◽  
Author(s):  
F. A. Todd

Blockhead or or Baldhead?(i) Petron. Sat. 39. 12: ‘in Aquario (nascuntur) copones et cucurbitae’.(ii) Apul.Met. I. 15: ‘nos cucurbitae caput non habemus ut pro te moriamur’.Cucurbita in its literal use is the name of many varieties of the numerous family of Cucurbitaceae, as one may learn, e.g. from Plin. Nat. Hist. xix. It is also the name of the cupping instrument called by Juvenal, xiv. 58, uentosa cucurbita, for which see Mayor's note ad loc. For other metaphorical uses of the name, Forcellini and the Thes. Ling. Lat. cite only the two passages quoted above; of these two, Lewis and Short cite only the former. Lexicographers and editors,1 comparing the one passage with the other, concur in the view that the cucurbita is the symbol of stupidity, and that a stupid man may be called a cucurbita, as in Petronius, or be said cucurbitae caput habere, as in Apuleius. At first sight their interpretation of the Apuleian phrase is plausible, for it makes tolerable sense in the context and appears to be supported by such modern expressions as ‘pumpkin-head’ and Kürbiskopf and κεχλι κολοκνθνιον, all of which liken the head of a stupid man to a pumpkin or other gourd which, though bearing some resemblance to a human head, encloses not a brain but an insensate mass of pulp and seeds. But ‘to have a pumpkin-head’ and ‘to be a pumpkin’ are prima facie very different, for the latter equates the man himself with the cucurbita, whereas it is only qua substitute for a head that the cucurbita can typify stupidity; and when it is further observed that in the Petronian passage cucurbitae so interpreted accords ill with the context, it becomes clear that some other explanation must be sought.


1984 ◽  
Vol 104 ◽  
pp. 79-95 ◽  
Author(s):  
S. R. F. Price

The Greeks under Roman rule suffer from a double prejudice. On the one hand, Hellenists lose interest in the Greeks after the classical period; on the other, Roman historians find it hard to avoid a Romanocentric perspective. This double prejudice becomes particularly acute when the issue is the religious language used by the Greeks to refer to the Roman emperor. For example, the Greeks called the living emperor both theou huios (‘son of god’) and also theos (‘god’). The language looks odd from the perspectives both of classical Athens and of imperial Rome. One way to make sense of it is to treat it as a translation out of Latin. Thus the bizarre practice of calling the emperor theou huios is seen as perfectly natural because it is simply the translation of divi filius. Why natural? Because, as the heirs of Rome, we can attempt to ignore the cultural differences between us and the ancient world. But the tactic of treating Greek as a translation out of Latin does not always work. Calling the living emperor theos cannot be seen as a translation of divus, a term which applies only to dead emperors. Modern scholars are therefore forced to treat the usage as ‘deviant’, the product of either folly or flattery. In fact the failure of theos to translate divus undermines the first assumption that theou huios is a translation of divi filius.


Aschkenas ◽  
2016 ◽  
Vol 26 (1) ◽  
Author(s):  
Hans Otto Horch

AbstractThis contribution dwells on Jewish aspects in Alfred Döblin’s novel »Wallenstein«, which was written between 1916 and 1920. It refers, on the one hand, to the close financial connection between the Prague merchant and »court Jew« Jacob Bassevi and Wallenstein and the novel’s real protagonist, Emperor Ferdinand II, and, on the other hand, to a scene that stretches over several pages, depicting in a hyper-naturalistic manner the torture and burning of a Jewish couple. Similar to the witch trials, the scene documents the total cultural decline at the time of the Thirty Years’ War. Döblin’s historical novel is also a plea against the barbarism of World War I and against wars in general.


Mnemosyne ◽  
2020 ◽  
Vol 73 (1) ◽  
pp. 149-163
Author(s):  
Casper C. de Jonge

Abstract The sublime plays an important role in recent publications on Greek and Latin literature. On the one hand, scholars try to make sense of ancient Greek theories of the sublime, both in Longinus’ On the Sublime and in other rhetorical texts. On the other hand, the sublime, in its ancient and modern manifestations presented by thinkers from Longinus to Burke, Kant and Lyotard, has proved to be a productive tool for interpreting the works of Latin poets like Lucretius, Lucan and Seneca. But what is the sublime? And how does the Greek rhetorical sublime in Longinus relate to the Roman literary sublime in Lucretius and other poets? This article reviews James I. Porter, The Sublime in Antiquity: it evaluates Porter’s innovative approach to the ancient sublime, and considers the ways in which it might change our understanding of an important, but somewhat enigmatic concept.


Author(s):  
Josiah Ober

The introduction to the volume outlines the approaches represented in the following chapters, discusses their importance and identifies running themes and the avenues of research that they open, and sets them into the wider framework of possible forms of fruitful engagement between ancient Greek history and the social sciences. It explores the methodologies employed in recent work, in particular by the author (Josiah Ober), to show that engagement with the social sciences is not just about using quantified data to test explanatory hypotheses. The chapter is also, explicitly, written for two audiences: on the one hand it strives to describe the advantages that thoughtful engagement with the social sciences can bring to the ancient historian; on the other hand, it addresses social scientists and makes the case for the significance of the ancient world (and of the ancient Greek polis in particular) as the source of privileged and (relatively speaking) abundantly documented case studies for testing modern theories.


1986 ◽  
Vol 36 (2) ◽  
pp. 450-466 ◽  
Author(s):  
M. M. Austin

My title links together kings, war, and the economy, and the linkage is deliberate. I do not of course wish to suggest that Hellenistic kings did nothing but fight wars, that they were responsible for all the wars in the period, that royal wars were nothing but a form of economic activity, or that the economy of the kings was dependent purely on the fruits of military success, though there would be an element of truth in all these propositions. But I wish to react against the frequent tendency to separate topics that are related, the tendency to treat notions relating to what kings were or should be as something distinct from what they actually did, and the tendency to treat political and military history on the one hand as something separate from economic and social history on the other.A number of provisos should be made at the outset. The title promises more than the paper can deliver; in particular, more will be said about kings and war than about kings and the economy. The subject is handled at a probably excessive level of generalization and abstraction. I talk about Hellenistic kings in general, but in practice it would obviously be necessary to draw distinctions between different dynasties, different times and places, and individual rulers, and some of those distinctions I shall indicate. Conclusions are provisional and subject to modification and considerable expansion in detail. Finally, two points of terminology. I use the word ‘Hellenistic’ for no better reason than out of the force of acquired habit, but of course the word and the concept are modern inventions that were unknown to the ancient world.


Author(s):  
Jonathan A. Draper

This article applies the model of the moral economy in the ancient world, as formulated by Karl Polanyi and applied by Halvor Moxnes, to the economic relations reflected in the Didache. The study partly confirms Aaron Milavec’s contention that the instructions in the text would provide an ‘economic safety net’ for members of the community by putting in place a system of generalised reciprocity and redistribution, although Milavec’s depiction of the community as an ‘urban working class’ movement is found to be anachronistic. The ‘communion of the saints’ is very much an economic system with aspects of resistance to the Roman imperial system. However, the moral economy of the Didache is seen to reflect a number of ambiguities, particularly in its adoption of the Christian Housetable ethic but also in its adoption of the patron client terminology in the dispute between prophets and teachers on the one side and bishops and deacons on the other.


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