Asked why the said synagogue is held, he replies that it derives from the fact that they as a custom were in the habit of adoring a certain idol called Bacchus and Baron and also the Sibyl and the Fairies and that Baron and the Fairies were accustomed to holding congregations during which there was no respect between daughter and father, nor with the godmother, as there is, however, outside the said synagogue. And in the synagogue, by night, when the candle was out, they mixed and each took the woman he could have, without recognising her and without speaking while the synagogue lasted; and if a son was begotten, he was the most appropriate and apt to exercise the office of barbe; and he said other things, that his companion had previously said.

- Record of the interrogation of the barbes Martino and Pietro, 1492

Here is the first draft of the ritual for Dionysos and his dead.My own particular devotional style is very streamlined and action oriented, and there usually aren’t a whole lot of talky bits. When there are it’s usually spontaneous and ex tempore stuff. That approach works pretty well when you’re by yourself or doing ritual with a couple of other experienced people — but not so much with large groups of folks you’ve never even met before, let alone done ritual with. So I whipped this up and sat with it for a couple days to see if it really felt like the thing we should be doing. It didn’t. I Can’t really say what was off about it, except that it felt a little sparse and confined. But mostly it didn’t feel like what was called for on this occasion. So I checked through divination to see whether I should rewrite it or if I was just experiencing pre-ritual jitters and the message came back that I needed to not just rewrite it but do something entirely different. Judging by the results we got, they were right.

The Feast of Friends: a theoxenia for the Dead of Dionysos
Version One

The participants gather in a semi-circle and sit. Each is given a cup of wine.

The semi-circle is formed around a shrine to the dead with offerings and images and candles aplenty. There is also a bowl full of wine and beside it an empty bowl and a ladle.

The Priest will proclaim a holy silence for the dead.

When the Priest has inwardly said “Hail to you Opener of the Door” nine times he is to shout:

“Hail the Dead of Dionysos!”

All shall shout in response:

“Hail the Dead of Dionysos!”

The Priest leads them in this nine times.

Then the Priest reads from the scroll:

“Let us drink to the memory of the prophets of Dionysos, the honored dead who saw visions and traveled to distant lands to make the mysteries of the vine manifest to all who would receive them.”

With each name the participants will take a sip from their cup.

The Priest reads from the Scroll:

To Saint Melampos, hail!
To Saint Akoites, hail!
To Saint Orpheus, hail!
To Saint Arion, hail!
To Saint Archilochos, hail!
To Saint Olympias, hail!
To Saint Ptolemy Philopator, hail!
To the Etruscan Stranger Saint, hail!
To Saint Marcus Antonius, hail!
To Saint Nonnos, hail!
To Saint François Rabelais, hail!
To Saint Friedrich Nietzsche, hail!
To Saint Jim Morrison, hail!

When the Priest reaches the end of the list of names he is to say:

“And let us drink to all of the other prophets of the god, the honored dead who are with us and inspire us still.”

All shall shout in response three times:

“Hail the Dead of Dionysos!”

Then the Priest says:

“Next we honor the blessed martyrs of Dionysos, those noble souls who gave up their lives so that men might know the freedom of Dionysos and find joy and ecstasy in the dance.”

The same procedure is followed as before.

The Priest reads:

To Saint Ikarios, hail!
To Saint Erigone, hail!
To Saint Prosymnos, hail!
To the Sainted Women of the Sea, hail!
To Saint Chorea and those who fell at Argos, hail!
To Saint Skyles, hail!
To the Saints who perished in the suppression of the Bacchinalia, hail!
To the Saints who died in the Alexandrian riots defending his mystic emblems, hail!
To the Saints who broke the law to wear satyric masks at the grape-harvest, hail!

When the Priest reaches the end of the list of names he is to say:

“And drink to all those who suffered a tragic fate and earned an honored seat at the bridal feast of Dionysos, the martyrs of the vine.”

All shall shout in response three times:

“Hail the Dead of Dionysos!”

The same procedure is followed as before.

When all are settled again the Priest proclaims:

“Dionysos desires to be worshiped by all. His gifts and grace are open to any who will freely receive them. His is not just a religion of prophets and martyrs; he loves his wand-bearers as fully and fiercely as he loves his Bakchoi. Let us remember all those who danced and went mad before us and are with us still, the whole band of merry faithful. We shall go around and each speak the name of one who belonged to Dionysos or who reminds you of him by their life and its impact on your own. We will go around as many times as we need to or as long as the wine lasts.”

When the names stop coming the Priest will say something to the effect of:

“The Dead of Dionysos live in him and he is here with us whenever the wine is poured out and his spirit loosens. Open yourself up. Feel the god. Feel his dead. Feel the wine and the music and feel this moment and everything that’s in it. We’re going to experience Dionysian communion now. Go with the flow and do what feels right for you. If you want to sit quietly with your thoughts, sit quietly. If you want to get up and dance, dance. If you feel moved to say something, speak. Whatever your spirit and the spirits direct. Just don’t interfere with what another person’s doing – the god hates that. Communion will last as long as it lasts. When you’re done bring your cup up to the shrine and go chill in the other room for as long as you need to. Let’s begin.”

The Priest then starts the music. If the participants have drums and other instruments that would be ideal, but one should also prepare a playlist as a backup.

There is no formal closing of the rite.

Notes:

All participants should wear black or red or black and red. No other colors are permitted. They should also have stephanoi or crowns of ivy and flowers. The shrine should be red and black, with images of Dionysos and his head. The wine must be red. Offerings, which are laid out before the start of the rite, consist of pork, honey, garlic, beeswax candles, milk, olive oil, beans, barley and other grains, and anything else that seems appropriate from Greek or African traditions.

And here is the script that we started with. I say “started with” because we left a lot of room for improvisation. It’s my general feeling a script should be a guide or suggestion only. Depart from it as much as you need to, especially if the participants are getting caught up in the moment. That’s what you want! That openness makes room for one to encounter the divine, which is the whole point of doing ritual in my opinion. I went over it with the priests first and then with the regular participants before we started so that they would have a vague sense of what to expect, especially since a lot of them came from other traditions. (Speaking of which, Galina has an interesting article comparing and contrasting what it’s like to honor Greek and Norse divinities that you should read.) I also explained why Hermes and Spider were included in this ritual for Dionysos and his dead and why we were even honoring the Dionysian dead. I further explained how this whole thing was my own personal riff on Hellenic ritual and not in any way attempting to reconstruct or replicate what the ancients themselves did so no one was under any false pretenses. Then the magic happened. Seriously, I can’t thank the participants enough. I think it meant a lot to Dionysos to have his dead honored. I also got this strong sense of how much he cares for them during it. Wow. It was overwhelming and indescribable and made me even more resolved in their cultus. Oh, and since I’m a superstitious bastard (don’t ever walk in another man’s footprints and remember what slimy eyeballs there are online when you’re thinking of posting anything) I altered some of the text and left out a couple of the steps that we did. So, again, feel free to adapt as you see fit should you choose to do this ritual with some friends of your own. And remember, results are subject to variance.

A Feast of Friends version 2.0

Dramatis personae
Priest of Dionysos
Priest of Fire
Priest of Hermes
Priest of Spider
Priest of the Drum
The thiasos of Participants

Things needed
Masks
Drum
Bell
Wine for the gods
Wine for the participants
Wine for the dead
Milk
Mead
Olive oil
Warmed honey
2 candles for Dionysos
Candle for Hermes
Candle for Spider
Candle for the dead
Offering bowl for Hermes
Offering bowl for Spider
Large bowl
Small bowl
Ladle

Preparations
The shrine is to be set up in the following manner. At the center will be placed an image of Dionysos flanked by two candles. In front of that will be a large bowl, a small bowl and a ladle. Spread out around these will be the communal offerings to Dionysos and his retinue. There will also be candles and offering bowls for Hermes, Spider and the Dionysian Dead. To the side will be a table of chthonic offerings. Next to the communal offerings will be a cup with the names of thirteen Bacchic martyrs in it.

While everyone is milling about, the Priest of Dionysos will light the two candles flanking the image of the god and people can begin arranging the offerings to Dionysos and his retinue that they brought.

Once the shrine is properly arranged it will be time to begin the ritual.

The Ritual

The Priest of Hermes calls everyone to order by ringing a bell nine times.

The Priest of Fire purifies all of the Participants and then waits beside the shrine.

The Priest of Dionysos says:

Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin.

Ladies and Gentlemen, please put on your masks.

When everyone has, the Priest of Dionysos says:

Silence!

When the period of holy silence is done the Priest of Dionysos says:

Hail to you Hermes, Guide of Souls!

The Priest of Hermes steps forward and recites the invocation:

The Invocation of Hermes

Come and receive the hospitality of our feast
O Hermes who wanders the lonely roads by night,
stone-faced stranger, clever with words, thief of secrets,
powerful magician who carries the keys of initiation,
luck-bearer, mediator and messenger, navigator in the land of dreams
who brings the souls of the dead safely into the arms of their loving master,
guide through illusion and protector against adversity, hail!
As you come from the land below to receive this good wine and honors in our rite,
friend and brother of Dionysos Bakcheios,
lead the furious host in the dances of the Liberator through the halls of Haides
until they reach this welcoming House.

The Priest of Fire lights the candle of Hermes.

The Priest of Hermes kneels, pounds their fist on the floor four times and then pours some wine into his bowl. Then they return to the crowd of Participants.

The Priest of Dionysos says:

Hail to you Spider, who weaves the way between the worlds!

The Priest of Spider steps forward and recites the invocation:

The Invocation of Spider

O maiden wise and remorseful,
you who know the ecstasy of the grape’s seduction
and unbearable grief at the loss of your father,
you who make your home beneath the earth with the dead
and climb the tree to the high heavens to speak with the blessed immortals –
proud in your sacred craft,
teller of the stories of the forgotten and despised,
keeper of the mysteries of holiness,
leader of the dance that brings release,
reader and spinner of the golden threads of fate,
carry the dead on your back like a sac of eggs,
so that they may rise up and join us in the feast,
receiving their rightful share of the sacrifice.
Hail!

The Priest of Fire lights the candle of Spider.

The Priest of Spider kneels, pounds their first on the floor eight times and then pours some wine into her bowl. Then they return to the crowd of Participants.

The Priest of Dionysos says:

Listen! Remember!

This is the work of memory, when you are about to die.
… remembering hero…
You will find beside the house of Haides a spring and standing by it a white cypress.
Descending to it, the souls of the dead refresh themselves.
Do not even go near to this spring!
You will find another one, from the Lake of Memory, with cold water pouring forth;
there are guards before it.
They will ask you, with astute wisdom, what you are seeking in the darkness of murky Haides.
“Who are you? Where are you from?”
You tell them the entire truth.
Say: “I am a child of Earth and starry Sky. My name is Starry: my race is heavenly; you yourself know this. I am parched with thirst and I am dying. But quickly grant me cold water from the Lake of Memory to drink!”
And they will announce you to the Chthonian King,
and they will grant you to drink from the divine spring.
And thereafter you will rule with other heroes.
You, too, having drunk, will go along the sacred road with other glorious initiates
and possessed by Dionysos travel.

The Priest of Dionysos then continues:

We have come here today to honor the Lord Dionysos. But as he has great love for those who have gathered around him, we will begin by honoring his blessed dead. Hail the dead!

All of the Participants respond:

Hail the dead!

The Priest of Dionysos leads them in this a total of nine times.

The Priest of Dionysos continues:

Let us give to the dead the offerings of heroes.

Each of the Participants approaches the table of chthonic offerings and pours some into the large common bowl. When the offerings have been made and the Participants have retaken their positions the Priest of Fire lights the candle for the dead and then rejoins the crowd of Participants.

The Priest of Dionysos kneels before the shrine and says:

Lay aside your mask and listen for the wisdom of the dead. If you feel moved to do so you may come forward and retrieve one of the holy Bacchic Martyrs. You shall take it upon yourself to learn who they are and care for them during October, that month during which they declared our god illegal and hunted his followers like dogs in the streets. Otherwise just honor the dead as you feel moved to.

The Priest of the Drum then begins to play.

Once that portion of the ritual is finished, the Priest of Dionysos stands and says:

Where is the wine?
The new wine that we were promised?
Dying on the vine.

I prefer a feast of friends.

Let us praise the Good Lord together.

The Priest of Dionysos reads the hymn of the kōmastaí and any other devotional poetry they have on hand. One should give pride of place to contemporary, especially that provided by the members themselves.

The Priest of Dionysos then says:

Hail Dionysos!

All of the Participants respond:

Hail Dionysos!

The Priest of Dionysos leads them in this a total of nine times.

Come. Sit. Relax.

We are in the presence of the Lord of the West, the Loosener of Cares, He who Frees, Dionysos Bakcheios.

Come. Take his liquid grace. It matters not whether you prefer him young or mature – he’ll have you ecstatic by ritual’s end.

While the participants are seating themselves the Priest of Hermes brings around cups for everyone, followed by the Priest of Spider carrying wine and grape juice. Each Participant is given a choice of sacraments. When everyone is served they will take their place in the crowd.

The Priest of Dionysos then says:

Let us call to him in our own words. We’ll go around, each of us hailing him by one of his epithets or however you’re move to greet him. This will be met by the response “Hail Dionysos!” Then we all take a drink. We do this until we run out of wine or names.

The Priest of Dionysos then puts aside the ritual book and hails Dionysos as Opener of the Door.

Once this portion of the ritual is finished it will transition into freeform worship. Participants are encouraged to dance or approach the shrine or just sit quietly and continue drinking. Whatever the spirit in them is moved to do. When they’re done, or if it gets too intense, the Participants are encouraged to go off and lay down, gently riding it out. The ritual will end when it ends.

Because of the vagaries of our religious calendar Dver and I will be celebrating both the Thalusia and the Oread Nymphaia tomorrow.

We’re going to rise at an utterly obscene hour and climb Skinner’s Butte to make offerings to the mountain-nymphs.

Then we’ll come down to the farmer’s market to gather things for the harvest-feast in honor of Demeter and Dionysos. After working in Dver’s garden for a while, we’ll share a meal with our gods and I’ll recite this hymn:

Thalusia Hymn
Welcome to our plentiful feast O august Deo,
grandmother of the vine and wet-nurse of mountain-fostered Bakcheios,
you who love the season of autumn when the golden wheat is threshed
and the leaves on the fair trees burn brightest before they fall
and the last of the produce is brought to market by the industrious farmers,
those holy toilers in the fields who keep your traditions alive with their tireless labor
feeding the city of the well-born ones in this fertile valley
nourished by the pure waters of the Willamette and McKenzie rivers.
O frenzied Chloê, accept this offering we gathered for you
and carried home in the liknon-basket, all the best fruits, grains and vegetables we could find.
May the fragrance of fresh-baked bread be pleasing to you O mistress Demeter,
you who first taught man to cultivate the earth and make food from plants
instead of the flesh of beasts; you who caused us to put aside our savage ways
and embrace just laws and the harmonious existence of civilized city-life.
You with eyes like blue camas flowers and hair green as hops, crowned with poppies,
you who hold barley in your hands to remind us of that wonderful beverage, dear to your heart,
that you first quenched your thirst with when you searched for your beautiful daughter over the whole earth.
Rejoice O bountiful Ceres in our celebration,
as we rejoice in all that you have graciously bestowed upon us
and we will remember you again next year!

Our Thalusia is loosely modeled on the ancient festival celebrated by the Greeks in Sicily:

Concerning the Thalusia: At one time there were troubles at Syracuse which it was deemed were caused by Artemis. So the farmers brought gifts and sang a joyful hymn to the goddess and later on this became a customary event. As the rustics sang they would carry loaves of bread with figures of wild beasts on them, purses full of every type of seed, and a goat-skin with wine; they poured out libations for all those they met, wore a garland and deer antlers, and carried a shepherd’s rabbit-prod in their hands. The winner of the competition receives the bread of the defeated. They also sing other songs of a playful, funny nature, first saying in reverent tones, Receive good fortune, receive good health, which we bring from the goddess, by which she gave her command.

- Prolegomena to Theokritos, Bucolicorum Graecorum 2.5

There is a younger legend, that her mother was Kythereia herself, the pilot of human life, who bore her all white to Assyrian Adonis. Now she had completed the nine circles of Selene’s course carrying her burden: but Hermes was there in time on speedy foot, holding a Latin tablet which was herald of the future. He came to help the labour of Beroe, and Themis was her birth-goddess–she made a way through the narrow opening of the swollen womb for the child, and unfolded the wrapping, and lightened the sharp pang of the ripening birth, with Solon’s laws in hand. Kypris under the oppression of her travail leaned back heavily against the ministering goddess, and in her throes brought forth the wise child upon the Attic book, as the Lakonian women bring forth their sons upon the round leather shield. She brought forth her newborn child from her motherly womb with Hermes the Judge to help as man-midwife. So she brought the baby into the light. The girl was bathed by the four Aetai, which ride through all cities to fill the whole earth with the precepts of Beroe. Okeanos, first messenger of the laws for the newborn child, sent his flood for the childbed round the loins of the world, pouring his girdle of water in an everflowing belt. Aion, his coeval, with his aged hands swaddled about the newborn girl’s body the robes of Dike, prophet of things to come; because he would put off the rope-like slough of his feeble old scales, and grow young again bathed in the waves of Law. The four Horai struck up a tune together, when Aphrodite brought forth her wonderful daughter.

[...]

Beroe grew up, and coursed with the Archeress, carrying the nets of her hunter sire. She had the very likeness of her Paphian mother, and her shining feet … Zeus perceiving another unwedded maiden of Assyria, was fluttered again and wished to change his form: certainly he would have carried the burden of love in bull’s form again had not the Bull of Olympos, Europa’s bridegroom, bellowed from out the stars with jealous throat, to think that he might set up there a new star of seafaring armours and make the image of a rival bull in the sky. So he left Beroe, who was destined for a watery bridal, as his brother’s bedfellow, for he wished not to quarrel with the Earthshaker about a mortal wife.

Such was Beroe, flower of the Graces. If ever the girl uttered her voice trickling sweeter than honey and honeycomb, winning Peitho sat ever upon her lips and enchanted the clever wits of men whom nothing else could charm. Her laughing eyes outshone all the company of her young Assyrian agemates as they shot their shafts of love, with brighter graces, like the moon at the full, when showering her cloudless rays and hiding the stars. Her white robes falling down to the girl’s feet showed the blush of her rosy limbs. There is no wonder in that, even if she had such fairness beyond her young yearsmates, since bright over her countenance sparkled the beauties of both her parents.

[...]

The vinegod turned his eye to look, and scanned the tender body of the longhaired maiden, full of admiration the conduit of desire; his eye led the way and ferried the newborn love. Dionysos wandered in that heartrejoicing wood, secretly fixing his careful gaze on Beroe, and followed the girl’s path a little behind. He could not have enough of his gazing; for the more he beheld the maid standing there, the more he wanted to watch.

He called to Helios, reminding the chief of the stars of his love for Klymene, and prayed him to hold back his car and check the stalled horses with the heavenly bit, that he might prolong the sweet light, that he might go slow to his setting and with sparing whip increase the day to shine again. Pressing measured step by step in Beroe’s tracks the god passed round her as if noticing nothing; while Earthshaker stole from Lebanon with lingering feet, and departed with steps slow to obey, turning again and again, his mind shifting like the sea and rippling with billows of ever-murmuring care.

Unsated, in the delicious forests of Lebanon, Dionysos was left alone beside the lonely girl. Dionysos was left alone! Tell me, Oreaid Nymphai, what could he wish for more lovely than to see the maiden’s flesh, alone, and free from lovesick Earthshaker? He kissed with a million kisses the place where she set her foot, creeping up secretly, and kissed the dust where the maiden had trod making it bright with her shoes of roses. Bakchos watched the girl’s sweet neck, her ankles as she walked, beauty which nature had given her, the beauty which nature had made: for no ruddy ornament for the skin had Beroe smeared on her round rosy face, no meretricious rouge put a false blush on her cheeks. She consulted no shining mirror of bronze with its reflection a witness to her looks, she laughed at no lifeless form of a mimic face to estimate her beauty, she was not for ever arranging the curls over her brows, and setting in place some stray wandering lock of hair by her eyebrows with cunning touch. But the natural beauties of a face confound the desperate lover with a sharp sting, and the untidy tresses of an unbedizened head are all the more dainty, when they stray unbraided down the sides of a snow-white face.

Sometimes athirst when beaten by the heat of the fiery Dog of Heaven, the girl sought out a neighbouring spring with parched lips; the girl bent down her curving neck and stooped her head, dipping a hand again and again and scooping the water of her own country to her mouth, until she had enough and left the rills.

When she was gone, Dionysos would bend his knee to the lovely spring, and hollow his palms in mimicry of the beloved girl: then he drank water sweeter than selfpoured nectar … The god grudging at Poseidon ruler of the waves felt fear and jealousy, since the maiden drank water and not wine.

[...]

Dionysos put on a serious look, the trickster! And questioned the maiden about her father Adonis, as a friend of his, as a fellow-hunter among the hills. She stood still, he brought a longing hand near her breast, and stoked her belt as if not thinking what he did: but touching her breast, the lovesick god’s right hand grew numb. Once in her childlike way, the girl asked the son of Zeus beside her who he was and who was his father … and in the cunning of his mind, he made as if he were a farm-labourer …

Eiraphiotes thought of trick after trick. He took the hunting-net from Beroe’s hands and pretended to admire the clever work, shaking it round and round for some time and asking the girl many questions–‘What god made this gear, what heavenly art? Who made it? Indeed I cannot believe that Hephaistos mad with jealousy made hunting-gear for Adonis!’

So he tried to bewilder the wits of the girl who would not be so charmed. Once it happened that he lay sound asleep on a bed of anemone leaves; and he saw the girl in a dream decked out in bridal array …

[...]

‘What worthy gifts will Earthshaker bring? Will he choose his salt water for a bridegift, and lay sealskins breathing the filthy stink of the deep, as Poseidon’s coverlets from the sea? Do not accept his sealskins. I will provide you with Bacchants to wait upon your bridechamber, and Satyrs for your chamberlains. Accept from me as bridegift my grape-vintage too. If you want a wild spear also as daughter of Adonis, you have my thyrsos for a lance–away with the trident’s tooth! Flee, my dear, from the ugly noise of the neversilent sea, flee the madness of Poseidon’s dangerous love!’

[...]

For King of Satyrs and Ruler of the Sea, a maiden was the prize.

She stood silent, but reluctant to have a foreign wedding with a wooer from the sea; she feared the watery bower of love in the deep waves, and preferred Bakchos …

Heaven unclouded by its own spinning whirl trumpeted the call to war; and Seabluehair armed himself with his Assyrian trident, shaking his maritime pike and pouring a hideous din from a mad throat. Dionysos threatening the sea danced into the fray with vineleaves and thyrsos, seated in the lion-drawn chariot of his mother mountainranging Rheia …

[...]

Zeus granted the hand of Beroe to Earthshaker, and pacified the rivals’ quarrel. For from heaven to check the bridebattle yet undecided came threatening thunderbolts round about Dionysos. The vinegod wounded by the arrow of love still craved the maiden; but Zeus the Father on high stayed him by playing a tune of thunder, and the sound from his father held back the desire for strife. With lingering feet he departed, with heavy pace, turning back for a last gloomy look at the girl; jealous, with shamed ears, he heard the bridal songs of Amymone in the sea. The syrinx sounding from the brine proclaimed that the rites were already half done. Nereus as Amymone’s chamberlain showed the bridal bed, shaking the wedding torches, the fire which no water can quench. Phorkys sang a song; with equal spirit Glaukos danced and Melikertes romped about. And Galateia twangled a marriage dance and restlessly twirled in capering step, and she sang the marriage verses.

[...]

O Beroe, root of life, nurse of cities, the boast of princes, the first city seen, twin sister of Time, coeval with the universe, sea of Hermes, land of Dike, bower of Euphrosyne, house of Paphia, hall of the Erotes, delectable ground of Bakchos, home of the Archeress, jewel of the Nereides, house of Zeus, court of Ares, Orchomenos of the Charites, star of the Lebanon country, yearsmate of Tethys, running side by side with Okeanos, who begat thee in his bed of many fountains when joined in watery union with Tethys–Beroe the same they named Amymone when her mother brought her forth on her bed in the deep waters!

– Nonnos of Panopolis, The Dionysiaka

The story of Beroê (after whom the city of Beirut is named) is kind of a fascinating example of Near Eastern myth via interpretatio Graeca. I’m far from an expert on the subject, but Beroê reminds me a bit of ‘Anat or ‘Anti.

Certainly my Zoroastrian pun is worth at least a chuckle.

Who are the Psoloeis and who the Oleiae among the Boiotians?

They relate that the daughters of Minyas, Leucippê and Arsinoê and Alcathoê, becoming insane, conceived a craving for human flesh, and drew lots for their children. The lot fell upon Leucippê to contribute her son Hippasos to be torn to pieces. Their husbands, who put on ill-favoured garments for their grief and sorrow, were called “Grimy” (Psoloeis); but the Minyads themselves were called Oleiae, that is to say, ‘Murderesses.’ And even today the people of Orchomenos give this name to the women descended from this family; and every year, at the festival of Agrionia, there takes place a flight and pursuit of them by the priest of Dionysos with sword in hand. Any one of them that he catches he may kill, and in my time the priest Zoïlus killed one of them. But this resulted in no benefit for the people of Orchomenos. For Zoïlus fell sick from some slight sore and, when the wound had festered for a long time, he died. The people of Orchomenos also found themselves involved in some suits for damages and adverse judgements; wherefore they transferred the priesthood from Zoïlus’s family and chose the best man from all the citizens to fill the office.

– Plutarch, Quaestiones Graecae 38

Edith and I are Maenads now with a “longing for the hills & ecstasy.” Let Frances expect to see me at the midland station with cone-pointed thyrsos & fawn-skin. Tell him I shall walk to Lindelhurst in this array. He need not think of hiding my originality in a fly!

- Katherine Harris Bradley to the family of Frances Brooks in a letter dated 1882

After what sounds like a pretty miserable experience at a pan-pagan event, Monte Plaisance of Thessaly Temenos is putting out a call to Hellenists:

The gist of what I am trying to get at here is that despite their inept attempt to include Hellenism into their supposedly ‘diverse’ event, the entire thing was predominately Wiccan in its representation and they had no qualms about making it clear that we were not welcome. So my call to all Hellenists is this. Let’s quit wasting our time trying to make sure that we have representation at these types of events and simply ban together and create our own events. This way, we can all discuss and exchange ideas and concepts that are important to our faith and way of life.

So let us get this ball rolling. Any Hellenists who read this blog let your friends and fellow Hellenists know that Thessaly Temenos would like to host an event that both our Hellenic Communities and Individuals can be proud of. If you are interested in attending, helping or showing up contact us at: hellenicuniversityofthessaly@ymail.com – serious inquiries only. Please include your contact information with your responses. We will be including this call in all of the various groups and blogs that we are members of. Pass the word and let’s show the world what we can do.

There have been some interesting updates here and here. This thing looks like it might actually have some legs.

I think I’m going to have to slightly modify my offer, because I just remembered that I’m going to be helping Pete Helms put on a ritual for Ares at the Hellenic Revival Gathering.

That makes doing the Maiuma there a very bad idea.

It was basically a week-long festival celebrating Dionysos and Aphrodite boinking each other. Although there were all sorts of parades and theatrical shows and lavish dinner parties leading up to it, the culmination was a mad, drunken rush into the waves followed by a communal orgy. It was such a popular festival in Rome and Antioch that a Byzantine Christian emperor had to repeal the laws against the festival or risk insurrection.

Be that as it may, I’m not going to be the one to rub the god of war’s nose in his wife’s infidelity.

Smart satyrs get to keep their skin.

Enter, if you dare.

Plotinos, Enneads 4.3.12
The souls of humans, having seen their images as in the mirror of Dionysos, became there having leapt from above.

Proklos, Commentary on the Timaios 2.8.19
Dionysos sees his own image in the mirror and goes out into the whole divided creation.

When people think of syncretic deities it’s usually Serapis or Antinous that come to mind – but really, I think Hermes has the right to be called the syncretic deity par excellence. Like Voltron on crack, he combines with just about everyone!

I mean, there’s Hermanubis (Plutarch On Isis and Osiris 61), Hermekate (PGM III.46), Hermathene (Cicero, Ad Atticum 2.1.5), Hermes Trismegistos (P.Herm. 3), Hermaphroditos (Hyginus, Astronomica 2.16), Hermares (J. Paul Getty Museum, Fig. 22), Hermes-Antinous (Pancrates’ poem), Hermapollon* (P.Lond. 5.1801), Hermammon* (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 7.10) – as well as Hermosiris, Hermeros, Hermarpokrates, Hermerakles, and Hermagathosdaimon for whom I could find no reliable sources.

What does all this mean? I haven’t a clue, but I find his multiplicity of forms quite fascinating, especially in light of Hermes’ role as a shape-shifter and trickster.

* Of course, these two represent theophoric names borne by mortals and may or may not reflect a distinct syncretic hypostasis of Hermes. Though, there is a Hermes Parammon in Pausanias (5.15.11) so perhaps there’s more to that one than meets the eye.

I sing of Hermes, the slayer of Argos, lord of Kyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of the deathless gods, giver of grace, guide, and granter of happy boons!

Such is how the eighteenth Homeric Hymn praises Hermes, and as many can attest from personal experience it is a very apt description. Of all the gods, Hermes is perhaps the closest to mankind. He is constantly depicted as putting on a human guise and walking among us, working his strange magic and causing the unexpected to occur. He is a god of the crossroads, where two points meet and the road diverges into unfamiliar territory. Chance, coincidence, synchronicity, luck, an accident so full of meaning it ceases to be arbitrary.

We have many ways to describe the Hermetic presence in our lives, and it can be felt in an equally abundant variety of manifestations. For Hermes has taken upon himself many offices: his realms include everything having to do with money and commerce and exchange, with thievery and clever ideas, with communication and logic (both expressed as clear thinking and cunning deceit), with travel and exploration, with social bonds and their transgression, and ultimately everything that has to do with the human world and what lies beyond it.

Hermes is fond of surprising us. When we’re agonizing over which bill will have to go unpaid this month, he drops a windfall into our laps. When we’re feeling that our life has lost its moorings and we’re drifting aimlessly along he’ll cause our eyes to flash upon a billboard with a message that seems to have been written just for us. Sometimes Hermes’ change can be drastic and frightening: a long-time relationship suddenly crumbles or the job that we were sure we were going to get falls through. At such times it is easy to get discouraged and even to become angry at our lot in life – but if we don’t lose heart and continue pressing on, often we will find that this happened for a reason: another person, better able to meet our needs steps into the fore; that job we thought looked so promising is actually a dead-end that would have sapped our spirit and left us feeling trapped and bitter. Hermes is an amazing god, and the more you look for his presence in your life, the more it will be found.

But sometimes that can prove difficult. It is easy to get caught up in things and lose our focus, especially when our lives are so hectic and fast-paced and we have to juggle a dozen things at any given moment. While Hermes’ presence can be announced with colorful fireworks and life-altering events, more often than not he acts in subtle, easily missed ways behind the scenes. Just as anyone who works so hard to make our lives better and run smoother (when he’s not throwing a monkey-wrench into things for his own amusement, that is) appreciates when we take note of their benefactions, Hermes likes it when we honor him in a spirit of gratitude. This can take a number of different forms. Obviously there is the lavish sacrifice and votive gifts which form such an important part of Hellenic polytheist religious practice. Additionally there are small devotional activities that we can perform for him, such as writing poetry or making crafts to please him, or showing kindness to random strangers on the street or donating time and money to worthy charities in his honor. And there is always the solid stand-by of prayers and spontaneous expressions of gratitude such as “Wow, thanks for ____” or even “Holy shit, Hermes, that rocked!” whenever we note his activity. All of these are fine examples, and I would most heartily commend their adoption. But a while back I discovered a powerful way of expressing that gratitude, one that is more permanent and concrete to boot. (And by “discovered” I mean completely ripped off from the Good Doctor of the Ekklesia Antinoou, appropriately enough considering this is for Hermes.)

In ancient times people used to set up herms by the wayside to mark important boundaries. These were piles of stones, sometimes with a pillar erected in the middle, which had been built up over the years, each traveler setting a rock on the pile as he passed by. Scholars speculate that Hermes acquired his name from this practice, being originally the guardian of such numinous places. So in keeping with that, every time that you feel thankful to Hermes for something, pick up a rock or pebble. Using a permanent marker – a magic marker would indeed be appropriate, considering that Hermes is the patron of the magical arts – inscribe it with some type of dedication. Depending on the size of your stone this could be a date, or a single word to remind you of the event, or even a small paragraph describing what happened. Afterwards place the stone in a bowl which you can keep in a special place such as his shrine, and every time that you pass by you will have a tangible reminder of that event. Once your bowl is full, take the pile of stones outside – in your yard, or to a park, or an abandoned city lot, or some wooded location, or at a crossroads or the roadside of a highway – and set them up in a mound as a herm of gratitude.

Doing thus you will have erected a monument to the god and consecrated territory for him, and left a physical representation of your gratitude. And who knows, depending on where you set it up somebody at a later date may stumble upon it, perhaps leading them to seek out more information about this god, and who knows, they may even end up cultivating a relationship with him just because of your example. It will also be a continual act of devotion that can help ground you and remind you of his presence and his many blessings in your life.

Faraone reminds us that the prosaic synthema “Bull, you jumped in the milk” (A group) reflects Dionysiac religion as reconstructed from other early evidence. By uttering this statement, the initiate re-enacts the sudden motion of the god from life to death and back, as it is told in the Homeric episode of Lycurgus: the foam of the sea there had a milky aspect. It deals with a personal internalization of Dionysus’ mythology, leading to an identification with Dionysus himself. Thus Dionysus would not only have been the mystic goal, but also the dynamic paradigm of every initiatic process. (Alexis Pinchard, review of Radcliffe G. Edmonds III (ed.), The “Orphic” Gold Tablets and Greek Religion: Further Along the Path.)

You see, I officially released my new Bacchic Orphic-themed blog yesterday. I even gave folks a pretty clear clue about how to find it. And most people, I’m guessing, did not.

Part of me was tempted to keep it that way. Write intense, arcane material for the select few who were clever enough or well-versed enough in Bacchic Orphic lore to solve the puzzle that leads to the heart of the labyrinth. That’s how the Orphikoi handled things.

Many are the wand-bearers, few are the Bakchoi.

But if I’m serious about starting up this mad drunken death cult thing I have to cast a wider net. So …

Drink the rabbit’s wine and you’ll find yourself on the other side.

Plato, Laws 854ac
And, in accordance with our rule as already approved, we must prefix to all such laws preludes as brief as possible. By way of argument and admonition one might address in the following terms the man whom an evil desire urges by day and wakes up at night, driving him to rob some sacred object– “My good man, the evil force that now moves you and prompts you to go temple-robbing is neither of human origin nor of divine, but it is some impulse bred of old in men from ancient wrongs unexpiated, which courses round wreaking ruin; and it you must guard against with all your strength. How you must thus guard, now learn. When there comes upon you any such intention, betake yourself to the rites of guilt-averting, betake yourself as suppliant to the shrines of the curse-lifting deities, betake yourself to the company of the men who are reputed virtuous; and thus learn, partly from others, partly by self-instruction, that every man is bound to honor what is noble and just; but the company of evil men shun wholly, and turn not back. And if it be so that by thus acting your disease grows less, well; but if not, then deem death the more noble way, and quit yourself of life.

When people go on about the great pagans of antiquity who deserve to be remembered today, everyone mentions Hypatia but she wasn’t the only exceptional female philosopher that the exceptional city of Alexandria produced – there was also, a generation later, Aidesia.

Here’s what the Neoplatonic philospher Damascius (Life of Isidore fr. 124) had to say about her:

Wife of Hermeias. She was related by birth to the great Syrianos, and was the fairest and finest of all the women in Alexandria. In her character she was similar to her husband: simple, noble, and a devotee of Justice no less than of Propriety through her whole life. But her outstanding qualities were her piety and her philanthropy. Because of this she tried to benefit those in need even beyond her means, to the extent that even when Hermeias died and she was left behind with orphan children she continued in her good works. In fact, she spent her life in debt to her sons, upon which basis some even tried to find fault with her. But she, thinking there to be but one storehouse of hope for the better — for whoever might wish to lighten the burdens of holy and virtuous men — spared nothing, out of her pity for the fortunes that befall humankind. Therefore even the most wretched of the citizens loved her. She especially took care for her sons in the area of philosophy, desiring to bequeath to them the wisdom of their father as though it were a sort of inheritence of paternal property. She saved for the children the public allowance given to their father when they were still young, so they studied philosophy. This is something that we know of no other man doing, much less any other woman. There was no small amount of honor and respect for Aidesia in the eyes of all. But when she even sailed together with her sons to Athens, who were sent there to learn philosophy, it was not only the common crowd of philosophers who marvelled at her virtue, but even their chief, Proklos. It is this Aidesia whom Syrianos would have betrothed to Proklos had not one of the gods prevented Proklos from entering upon marriage. In regard to divine matters she was so pious and holy and, to put it in a single word, god-loving, that she was deemed worthy of many divine epiphanies. Such was Aidesia, and she lived her whole life beloved and praised by the gods and by men. I met her when she was an old woman, and at her death, while I was still young, a mere lad in fact, I recited at her tomb the customary eulogy adorned with heroic verses. (s.v. Aidesia)

Granted, her story’s not as “sexy” as Hypatia’s but in some respects she is a better representative of the Classical values, especially philanthropy and piety. And the fact that she impressed the holy man Proklos in this regard says a lot.

So hail Aidesia, saint of pagan mothers!

The God Graveyard story has made it onto The Wild Hunt – it’s really going to take off now! Oh boy.

I’m finding this whole thing simultaneously eye-opening and baffling. For instance on one blog where it was being discussed, I saw the following exchange:

Person One: Oh, they think they’re so pious.
Person Two: I know! Who thinks piety is something to brag about? That’s just sad.

Wow.

I don’t even really know where to begin untangling that.

Without speaking for any other polytheists, personally, I don’t think of myself as especially pious. Call me crazy, but not spitting in the face of the gods who are the givers of life and all the blessings that life contains is a pretty low minimum requirement to meet. But if even that is too demanding and controversial for you … why keep pretending you’re part of any kind of religion? Or more diplomatically, what you consider to be religion is so radically different from the traditional sense of that word that I just don’t think we can have any sort of meaningful conversation. There are plenty of folks I think are wrong – Christians, the anti-magic and mysticism camp in Hellenismos, racists, people who think Miley Cyrus is newsworthy – but for the most part we’re still speaking the same language. I just have to talk slower and louder and gesture a lot.

But if you think it’s sad that someone might brag about their piety – really?

I just … what else is there to brag about?

As long-time readers of this blog are no doubt aware, I have an extraordinarily large penis. And while it’s true that I thank the gods daily for it I am also aware that the gods were far more generous in bestowing their blessings upon the blue whale, whose average penis size ranges between eight to ten feet. (For body-penis ratio, however, the common barnacle has all of us beat at an astounding 40:1!)

Stuff? Tell me how great your stuff is once I’ve taken my sledge-hammer to it.

Children? See above.

Money? Money’s only good for buying stuff and manipulating people with. (Speaking of which … )

But the gods abide and they are very, very good to us. So if a person felt a sense of pride for their effort, small and inconsiderable though it may be, effort born of a love and gratitude for the holy powers – well then I say that that’s alright. In fact I say that that sort of thing ought to be encouraged! We should all aspire to be more pious!

Piety is not a dirty word, though there have always been those who have tried to make it so:

Are you, then, the companion of the gods, a man beyond the common? Are you the chaste one, untouched by evil? I will never be persuaded by your vauntings, never be so unintelligent as to impute folly to the gods. Continue then your confident boasting, take up a diet of greens and play the showman with your food, make Orpheus your lord and engage in mystic rites, holding the vaporings of many books in honor. For you have been found out. To all I give the warning: avoid men like this. For they make you their prey with their high-holy-sounding words while they contrive deeds of shame. (Euripides, Hippolytos 954.1)

Stephy knows exactly what’s wrong with the pagan community:

When I posted about the quilts I’m making for the infants whose families can’t afford baby blankets, my blog got 8 hits. When I talked about the need to specialize and to pick an area in the world where one can actively make a difference, I got 15. Yesterday, I angered a handful of well-known pagan bloggers by saying that a group of college atheists pulling a silly stunt by making a “god graveyard” wasn’t really that big a deal. I got 109 hits. This says something important about our community, that I really was hoping others who’ve observed the same phenomenon were mistaken about. Getting attention and blathering about theology and how everyone’s out to get us is worth more in this community than doing real work. It doesn’t matter who you’re helping; if there’s not a drama llama to be fed, people are going to move on. Why? Why is the idea of what pseudocelebrity is up in arms because SOMEONE DARES DISAGREE more important than providing blankets to babies who have none?