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Sunday, February 1, 2026

Carnival in Hell: Grimmelshausen’s Simplicissimus

 

 Numbers in brackets refer to endnotes.  Translations of excerpts are my own; the German is provided in endnotes. 

 

 

     Grimmelshausen’s picaresque novel, Der abenteuerliche Simplicissimus, like Goya’s engravings of scenes during the Peninsular War, provides a vivid picture of the disasters of war. Set during the Thirty Year’s War, one of the most destructive conflicts in history, in which the population of German lands was reduced by two-thirds through violence, disease, and starvation, the narration is full of blood, unrestrained cruelty, and sadism. Like Brecht’s play Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder which borrows the era and tropes on one of Grimmelshausen’s characters from a sequel to Simplicissimus, the material is grim and the work is unapologetically anti-war, though the main character, like workers throughout history, is willing to enlist in one army after another.  Yet the tone of this often violent narrative is paradoxically profoundly comic in the profound Rabelaisian vein Bakhtin called carnivalistic.

     The depredations of war on the German countryside are depicted in frightful detail. Tortures and peculiar sexual humiliation like kissing the victor’s anus are described [1] and the reader learns of the chaos and horrors of battle [2].  The verses that accompany the fascinating symbolic frontispiece of the book declare that the author’s purpose is to encourage readers to “abandon folly and live in peace” [3].  By the author’s estimation the human race is a bestial lot: “People are in  part more swinish than hogs, more fierce than lion, more lecherous than goats, more sly than foxes, more voracious than wolves, more foolish than apes, more poisonous than snakes and toads, yet all alike eat human food and only through their shape can they be distinguished from beasts.” [4]

     Human rapaciousness is evident not only in  the barbaric conduct of war; the entire structure of feudal society is shown to be profoundly exploitative.  Though many aspects of Grimmelshausen’s own background are obscure, he cannot be said to have had a privileged upbringing.  Orphaned at an early age, he either enlisted or was conscripted into a Hessian military unit while still a child.   While he later held various administrative positions of local importance under noble lords, his novel contains numerous critiques of the feudal order.  Though the utopia described by Jupiter is infected with German chauvinism, it nonetheless suggests the possibility of a society free from economic or religious discord.  Jupiter calls for an end to “corvées, watches, contributions, assessments, wars, or any other burdens on the people” as well as ending conflict among the Christian sects [5]. 

     Grimmelshausen questions the socio-economic hierarchy at the very outset, confusing categories by maintaining that Simplicissimus’ father was in a way like a monarch, having a palace (his home), lackeys (sheep and goats), arms (pitchforks and spades), a mode of life he calls “truly noble” [6].  He asks what title Adam had boasted [7], rather as John Ball three hundred years earlier had posed the question, “When Adam delved and Eve span, who then was the gentleman?”  This radical point of view simmers throughout the story.  At other points, to note only a few examples, Simplicissimus criticizes the practice of making military officers only of aristocrats, notes that only the poor are punished for their crimes, and laments that people are judged less by their own characters than by the opinions of their superiors [8].   When Simplicissimus dreams, he thinks of society as a tree with the workers, the only productive ones, as its roots.  

But the root was made up of people who count for little, like craftsmen, day laborers, mostly farmers and that sort, who nevertheless gave the tree its strength, and again rebuilt it when it lost some from time to time; indeed, they made up for the loss of fallen leaves from their own resources, to their own even greater ruin; besides, they sighed over those who sat on the tree [soldiers[, and not unjustly, for the entire burden of the tree rested on them, pressing them so much that all the money from their pouches, even from behind seven locks, slipped away.  [9]

     Who is the character who can so critically assess his own superiors?  At times he is a court jester, the figure considered traditionally to enjoy a particular privilege of speaking truth to power [10].  In this role he is able to “uncover all follies and criticize all vanities, for which role my position at the time suited admirably.” [11]  He is identified as a fool simply because he tells the truth [12]; his job is to “delicately point out their faults to this person and that” [13].

     Simplicissimus’ position as a “fool,” is expressed as well by his being called a calf (cf. the English term mooncalf) and by his display (like Midas, Apuleius, and Bottom) of asses’ ears.  While his lack of experience makes him in some ways ludicrous, it also signifies his purity.  He is like the young Parsifal, a genuine naïf, ignorant of the ways of the world and thus able to react in a fresh and spontaneous way [14].  His childhood is a sort of Eden, while the world around him is decidedly fallen. 

     The vogue for picaresque novels had been initiated with Lazarillo de Torres (1554) and Simplicissimus clearly belongs to the genre.  Considered in this light, the narrative is an amusing account of a trickster figure.  The bleak view of the world of unpredictable extreme violence is offset by the hero’s survival, generally through cunning means.  The reader can enjoy his adventures, since, no matter how often he falls, he always bounces back for another round.  As a trickster, he generally succeeds by means of outwitting his antagonists. 

     Though he had at first been described as a tabula rasa [15], he becomes something close to a culture hero with his inventions and innovations [16].  He resorts to trickery to get the best of a besieged city, a landlord, and his fellow soldiers [17].  Further, though he began knowing nothing whatever of God, he becomes something of a divine instrument.  His initial instruction by the pious hermit, his friendship with Herzbruder who is in a way his spiritual double, and his eventual retirement to the contemplative life at the end mark the foundation of his values in Christianity.  With his “clear conscience and sincerely pious mind”, he is shocked at the sinfulness of everyone around him, many of whom make idols of money  or food. He seems, in fact, to some “an oracle or the voice of God “ [18].  Overlaid atop the folkloric elements of Simplicissimus’ character is a strange sort of hagiography, in which the main character’s early misdeeds are followed by a conversion experience [19] and at the end as ascetic a hymn as one might imagine taking leave of the world [20].  Here Simplicissimus reminds the reader of other fables of spiritual growth such as Wu Cheng’en’s Journey to the West, Langland’s Piers Plowman, or Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.

     And yet, it is difficult to take this old confidence man at his word.  He has earlier demonstrated such élan vital, such ebullience, rivalling the comically swollen appetites of Gargantua and Pantagruel.  Grimmelshausen’s affirmation of things as they are is evident in his style.  The picaresque template itself is bouyant, comic, optimistic.  The book mingles genres as though a single model would be too restrictive including stories within stories, sometimes verses (as in Bk. I, ch. iii) or a dialogue (Bk. I, ch. vii).  Often the language boils over in a rich plentitude, as when Simplicissimus lists the daily round of activities at his Edenic childhood home (Bk I, ch xi) or when he catalogues a long paragraph of examples of memory (Bk. II, ch. viii) or the much longer learned catalogue of heroes of humanity (Bk. II, ch. x).  Sudden rhetorical effusions belly out at times, such as when he describes a scene of gambling in a rich manner that recalls the paintings of Pieter Breughel the Elder.  The passage is lengthy, but it represents a host of similar pyrotechnic displays of language throughout the book.

 

Quite a few were missing, a number did win, only to squander what they got.  Because of that some cured and thundered.  Consequently some were cursing; some cheated , some received sword-blows.  Hence the winner laughed and other bettors ground their teeth.  Some sold their clothes and anything else they cherished, while others won back their money.  Some wanted honest dice while others wanted loaded ones in the game and introduced them surreptitiously.   Others then tossed them away, smashed them, tore them apart with their teeth and tore others’ coats from their shoulders.  Among the loaded dice were some from the Netherlands which one had to roll in a looping motion.  These had such pointed backs like the skinny donkeys the soldiers rode that they rolled fives and sixes.  Others were from the highlands, the sort that one had to toss from a Bavarian height, others from Hirschhorn, mad heavy on the top and light on the bottom, while others were filled with quicksilver or lead, yet others with trimmings of hair or with sponges, chaff, or coal.  While some had pointed corners, others were rounded; some were like long cobs while others resembled broad tortoises.  Every one of these varieties was made for nothing but cheating.  T hey did the very thing they ere made to do.  One could equally well rock or gently let them slide.  It didn’t help with knots,  not to speak of two fives or two sixes or, on the other hand, two ones or two twos.  With these scoundrels they pinched, plotted, and stole each other’s money, which they might well have robbed or at any rate risked life and limb or otherwise gained through hard effort and work.

 

     While this passage is more than ordinarily sustained, such effusions occur throughout [21] Simplicissimus and the author’s poetry can (for instance in his best-known lyric “Komm, Trost der Nacht”) sound almost mystical.  The unmistakable tone is one of acceptance and affirmation of a monstrously flawed world.  If the final message of Rabelais is the motto of the Abbey of Thélème “Do as thou wouldst,” Simplicissimus’ might be “struggle but celebrate.”  Grimmelshausen recognizes the suffering inherent in life which people then multiply with added cruelty absent in nature, and yet his hero jumps in whole-heartedly, eager to play the game and suffer the blows and witness all the absurdity of human behavior with a mordantly ironic eye when the scene is too dreadful to laugh out loud.  Others might paint a rosier view; unfortunately, it is difficult to imagine a truer.

 

  

 

1.  Bk. I, Ch. xiv.  See also the tortures for dissenters in even Jupiter’s utopia, Bk. III, ch. v.

2.  Bk. I, Ch. xxvii.

3.  Entferne der Torheit und Lebe in  Ruh.”  The artist is unknown. 

4.  Wie teils Menschen säuischer als Schwein, grimmiger als Löwen, geiler als Böck, neidiger als Hund, unbändiger als Pferd, gröber als Esel, versoffener als Rinder, listiger als Füchs, gefräßiger als Wölf, närrischer als Affen, und giftiger als Schlangen und Kröten waren, welche dennoch allesamt menschlicher Nahrung genossen und nur durch die Gestalt von den Tieren unterschieden waren.”  Bk. II, ch. 7.

5.  Daß man von keinem Fronen, Wachen, Kontribuieren, Geldgeben, Kriegen noch einziger Beschwerung beim Volk mehr Wissen.”  Bk. III, ch. iv.  Bk. II, ch. v describes the plan to reconcile divided Christianity.  The racial component here (the primacy of Germany and the recognition of  England, Sweden, and Denmark as essentially Germanic) is disturbing. 

6.  Sehr adelig.”  Bk. I, ch. i.

7.  “[Er] fragte, wie man der Menschen ersten Vater tituliert hätte?”  Bk. II, ch. x.

8.  Bk. I, ch. xvii; Bk. IV, ch. xiii, and Bk. II, ch. ii.

9.  (Bk. I, ch.  xv)  Die Wurzel aber war von ungültigen Leuten, als Handwerkern, Taglöhnern, mehrenteils Bauren und dergleichen, welche nichtsdestoweniger dem Baum seine Kraft verliehen, und wieder von neuem mitteilten, wenn er solche zuzeiten verlor; ja sie ersetzten den Mangel der abgefallenen Blätter aus den ihrigen, zu ihrem eigenen noch größeren Verderben; benebens seufzeten sie über diejenigen, so auf dem Baum saßen, und zwar nicht unbillig, denn die ganze Last des Baums lag auf ihnen, und drückte sie dermaßen, daß ihnen alles Geld aus den Beuteln, ja hinter sieben Schlössern hervorging.”

10.  This role is referred to in Bk. II, ch. iv; Bk. III, ch. xi, and Bk. III, ch. xiv.

11.  Alle Torheiten zu bereden und alle Eitelkeiten zu strafen, wozu sich denn mein damaliger Stand trefflich schickte.”  Bk. II, ch. x.

12.  “My lord himself said, ‘I toom you for a fool, since you spoke the truth so unashamedly.”  (Mein Herr selbst sagte: »Ich halte ihn für einen Narrn, weil er jedem die Wahrheit so ungescheut sagt.).  Bk. II, ch. xiii.

13.  Dem einen und dem andern seine Mängel artlich verweisen möchte.”  Bk. II, ch. xiv.

14.  Cf. representations  of the infant Jesus, Jung’s “wise child,” etc.

15.  Einer leeren ohnbeschriebenen Tafel.” Bk. I, ch. ix.

16.  Some of his marvelous inventions re described in Bk. III, ch. i.  He is an expert at making powder and artillery pieces in Bk. V, ch xxii.

17.  See Bk. III, ch. ix for the duel and siege, Bk. III, ch. xxiv for landlord, Bk. IV, ch. x for his comrades-in-arms. 

18.  Ein reines Gewissen und aufrichtig frommes Gemüt.”  Bk. I, ch. xxiv.  Ein Orakel oder Warnung Gottes.”  Bk. II, ch. xiii.

19.  Here in Bk. V, ch. ii., though Simplicissimus had seemed to be religious in earlier scenes. 

20.  Etliche fehlten; etliche gewannen, etliche verspielten: derowegen auch etliche fluchten, etliche donnerten; etliche betrogen und andere wurden besäbelt. Dahero lachten die Gewinner, und die Verspieler bissen die Zähn aufeinander; teils verkauften Kleider und was sie sonst lieb hatten, andere aber gewinneten ihnen das Geld wieder ab; etliche begehrten redliche Würfel, andere hingegen wünschten falsche auf den Platz und führten solche unvermerkt ein, die aber andere wieder hinwegwarfen, zerschlugen, mit Zähnen zerrissen und den Scholderern die Mäntel zerrissen. Unter den falschen Würfeln befanden sich Niederländer, welche man schleifend hineinrollen mußte, diese hatten so spitzige Rücken, darauf sie die Fünfer und Sechser trugen, als wie die mageren Esel darauf man die Soldaten setzt. Andere waren oberländisch, denselben mußte man die bayrische Höhe geben, wenn man werfen wollte: etliche waren von Hirschhorn, leicht oben und schwer unten gemacht: andere waren mit Quecksilber oder Blei und aber andere mit zerschnittenen Haaren, Schwämmen, Spreu und Kohlen gefüttert; etliche hatten spitzige Eck, an andern waren solche gar hinweggeschliffen; teils waren lange Kolben, und teils sahen aus wie breite Schildkrotten. Und alle diese Gattungen waren auf nichts anders als auf Betrug verfertigt, sie taten dasjenige, wozu sie gemacht waren, man mochte sie gleich wippen oder sanft schleichen lassen, da half kein Knüpfens, geschweige jetzt derer, die entweder zween Fünfer oder zween Sechser und im Gegenteil entweder zwei Eß oder zwei Daus hatten: Mit diesen Schelmenbeinern zwackten, laureten und stahlen sie einander ihr Geld ab, welches sie vielleicht auch geraubt oder wenigst mit Leib- und Lebensgefahr oder sonst saurer Mühe und Arbeit erobert hatten.”  Bk. V, ch. xiv.

21.  See, for instance, the description of the dinner in Bk. I, ch. xxix or the following list of drinkers’ activities in Bk. I, ch. xxx. 

 


Convention and Comedy in Plautus’ Menaechmi

 

Actors wearing comic masks from a frieze in Herculaneum


     The Menaechmi is not only Plautus’ most popular play, it is as well solidly in the mainline of European comedy, adapted as it is from Greek New Comedy and influencing in turn Shakespeare and Molière.  Across the centuries dramatists from various countries have employed some of the same literary devices to generate humor, including conventions that provide distancing by foregrounding the artificiality of the aesthetic object.

     Fundamentally, of course, the very word art asserts that anything so labeled is artificial. The point about every poem, painting, or composition is that it is unnatural, not simply a record of direct experience.  No one moves like a ballet dancer or speaks in verse without the conscious intention of making something beautiful, something which I presume even Oscar Wilde did not do every moment of the day.  Yet works have varying degrees of verisimilitude. Though all art depends on illusion and the “willing suspension of disbelief,” Coleridge’s “poetic faith," still some paintings and some narratives give the impression that they represent reality more or less directly while others make no attempt to mirror everyday life.

     Comedy in particular depends on limiting emotional engagement.  Since we cannot simultaneously mock and empathize with a character, comic drama tends toward the explicitly contrived.  Far more people in silent films slip on banana peels or push a pie in the face of an antagonist than ever do such things in reality.  The acts are silent film conventions, recognizable to viewers as signals to laugh.  The viewer knows that nobody gets hurt; it is all a game.  In the cartoon genre Wile E. Coyote may be smashed flat as a pancake, but he will instantly rise to fight the next round. 

     In the Menaechmi and other comedies of Plautus detachment is built in part through the use of recognizable conventions, including highly unlikely coincidences that would be jarring in a realistic drama.  The circumstance of twins, separated since childhood but eventually reunited is considerably more common in folktale and legend than in reality.  While the classic denouement for comedy is marriage, in the Menaechmi the brothers’ finding each other is an equally joyful expression of love and affirmation.  Surely watching such a spectacle offers viewers an imaginative experience of victory just as tragedy rehearses the spectator’s own defeat and dissolution.  Their memory of their own defeats and suffering, however, as well as the implausibility of the play’s plot reminds them that the play is a fantasy, generating thereby a dialectic suggesting the interdependence of joy and sorrow, yet nonetheless offering a few laughs at the human predicament along the way. 

     Apart from that principal story arc, the plot of Plautus’ comedy depends throughout on the most unbelievable coincidence.  The brothers were apparently not only identical twins; they must in addition have dressed exactly alike to be taken for each other.  The Syracusan just happens to wander by Erotion’s house and Peniculus later happens to encounter him after the dinner.  His decision to feign insanity, while necessary for the plot, is unlikely.  Here and in romances (which are similarly unrealistic) there can only be a happy ending.  In both genres the reader’s sympathetic satisfaction at the story’s conclusion is mitigated by the artificiality of the narrative which suggests that such desirable resolutions are more the stuff of fables than of most human experience.  Thus one relishes the pleasure of victory over circumstance in imagination while conceding that events rarely fall out so neatly in reality.

     Apart from the conventional narrative pattern, Plautus in this play and in all his work makes use of stock characters and formulae.  The doddering father-in-law, for instance, is more ridiculous than pathetic, a figure at whom the audience laughs rather than feeling sympathy.  Messenio the slave is, rather than an example of injustice, a calculating agent, working often in his own interest.  The courtesan Erotium is portrayed more as a manipulator than as a victim. The doctor is perhaps as much quack as healer. 

     These stereotyped characters, like Pantalone, the dottore, and Arlecchino in commedia dell’arte, create emotional distancing while generating comedy by portrayals of these characters as types who act foolishly by nature and lack the audience’s awareness of critical circumstances, in the Menaechmi, that the men are twins.  Though the figures on stage may be unrealistic, they nonetheless arise from common experience. The difficult wife reflects gender rivalry, the tricky parasite and slave suggest the uneasiness of social hierarchy, the dubious doctor anxiety about health, and the calculating courtesan unease about sex for money.  It is a measure of the dehumanization that supports the humor that at the end, when Messenio says the auction of the belongings of the Epidamnian brother may include his wife, it is nothing but a laugh line.

     With the elements in place of an assured positive outcome and a cast of characters who are more reductive types than fully rounded personalities, Plautus is enabled to use the other classic sources of comedy to make his audience laugh.  With this foundation, jokes then emerge through the constant wordplay (which complicates the already impossible task of the translator), the emphasis on appetitive desire, and the revelation of human weakness, but the viewer’s sense of the scene’s unreality is a precondition. 

The Demanding Goddess: Cybele in Catullus 63

 

Engraving by Giacomo Bossi



      Everyone with any interest in ancient Roman poetry is likely to know several of Catullus’ playful erotic carmina: probably the lament on Lesbia’s sparrow (3), the lyrics on counting kisses (5 and 7), or the invitation to a party at which one might wish to be all nose (13).  Those somewhat better acquainted with Latin are likely to be familiar with his extremely abusive poems of invective charged with obscene imagery such as 88 with its attack on Gallus for incest or the memorable Catullus 16 the opening line of which is “I will fuck your face and your ass.” [1]

     Less familiar, probably, are the poems which some in antiquity, perhaps even the author, may have considered the chef d’oeuvres of the collection, the so-called carmina maiora or carmina docta (61-69), the chief theme of which is marriage.  Now, though Catullus is best-known for the incidental expressions of sexuality associated with lust and indecent raillery, he recognized that, both biologically and socially, erotic desire aims ultimately at marriage, stable families, and offspring.  The poet was engaged with each of these three manifestations of desire, though the first two, the non-reproductive, uses of eroticism excite more modern interest than the recommendation of stable marriage and thus have dominated his reputation.  Number 63 demonstrates how, even as he recommends socially conservative behavior, he provides an altogether sensational exemplum, though accompanied by a moralizing theme.  

     The chief figure in Catullus 63 is Attis whose worship, in association with that of Cybele, had been imported from Phrygia into Greece in the fourth century B.C.E.   The cult spread to Rome where it was accepted as a part of government-endorsed religious practice in the early third century B. C.E. in obedience to a Sibylline oracle promising divine aid in the Second Punic War.  In spite of that official approval, however, Attis must have seemed to most Romans a foreigner, and the self-castration of her devotees, the Galli, a thoroughly barbaric custom.  Catullus’ account of Attis’ story, related the rare excited galliambic meter, is meant to seem exotic and thrilling, though owing more to the style of the Grand Guignol than the travelogue.  Just as Gothic novels were set in Italy (if not more distant lands), which seemed vaguely mysterious to many Britons, for Catullus the far-off origins of Cybele’s rites heightens the drama while reassuring the Roman reader such things were for civilized men a mere side-show.

     Cybele was far from alone among Near Eastern deities to obtain a following in Rome.  The patriotic and historic observances that constituted the mos maiorum, the way of the ancestors, involving worship of Jove and the Olympians principally through sacrifice, had come to seem unsatisfying to many.  Some sought spiritual sustenance through a variety of foreign divinities, such as the Celtic Epona, but by far the largest group of gods imported from other lands were from the Near East, including the Persian Mithras and the Syrian Sol Invictus.  Others include the original worship of Dionysos (and the related ceremonies of Zagreus and Orpheus), the Eleusinian mysteries (which feature a dying and reborn goddess instead of a god), the Pythagorean Mysteries (though Pythagoras was a Greek, many aspects of Pythagorean belief have been thought to be non-Greek), and Christianity, which in its early forms included mysteries from which the uninitiated were barred.  The most common pattern, though, the one on which Frazer constructed the magnificent volumes of The Golden Bough, featured myths of an earth goddess, a Magna Mater, and her consorts.  Surely extending back into the Neolithic Age, these couples include the Mesopotamian Tammuz and Inanna, the Levantine Adonis and Aphrodite, the Egyptian Osiris and Isis, and the Phrygian Cybele and Attis.

     The Great Mother embodying the fertility of the earth which meant so much to our archaic ancestors, meant less to the urban Romans of Catullus’ time.  He, and others of the poets called by Cicero neoteric, or new style, like poets in the last hundred years, abandoned a grand and lofty epic style to focus on personal life and varied the old myths to express what were to them more contemporary themes. 

     Thus Catullus 63, far from a conventional hymn, piously remembering and praising the goddess Cybele and her consort Attis, and then asking favors, is in fact, the opposite, a horrified rejection of her orgiastic rituals and, in particular, the self-castration of her ministrants [2].  This shifts the story’s significance from  a celebration of fertility and life, in effect a tribute to sexuality, to a tale of a “belle dame sans merci,” a cautionary tale about the hazards of ecstatic religious practice.  Cybele here resembles that negative feminine archetype of the lover to be feared, different aspects of which are exemplified in ancient Greece by the Sphinx, Pandora, Eos (as Tithonus’ lover), and, in the Odyssey, Circe and Calypso, the Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis.  The lovers of goddesses typically come to grief, and those associated with the cyclic turn of the agricultural year must die, since, for the farmer, death is fruition and ripeness [3].

     The mythic about-face is marked by the identification of Attis, not as a Phrygian, but as a Greek who had traveled to Asia Minor.  He has then from the start an identity in part as a mythic figure and in part as a Greek Everyman.  Once his furor departs and he realizes what he has done, he laments his rashness in joining in Cybele’s rituals in a foreign land and thus deserting his home, leaving behind such Hellenic institutions as “the market, the wrestling-place, the racecourse, the playground” [4]  His mistress Cybele is more tyrannical than loving, manifesting in a “fearsome” [5] aspect to Attis, since his emasculation a “sterile man,” a mere “serving-girl” held in thrall by “madness.” [6].  Thus the poem ends with the persona, not inviting the deity as in Sappho’s hymn to Aphrodite but rather praying “may all your madness be kept far from me” [7].

     Attis’ principal ἁμαρτία is not, as Cybele alleges, his disloyalty to her, but rather his unnatural hostility to love, his “overwhelming loathing of sex” (“Veneris nimio odio,” l. 17), an attitude shared by a variety of other religious enthusiasts to whom erotic energy was wasteful, an obstacle to salvation or enlightenment.  Though a world-wide commonplace of ascetic practice considers celibacy to intensify spiritual power, physical castration is nonetheless profoundly abhorrent to most, a radical and unreversible assault on the individual’s well-being, going beyond such measures as fasting and mortification of the flesh.  Whatever the effect on religiosity, emasculation is a deeply antisocial act, undertaken in the interest of one’s own soul, but hostile or, at any rate, indifferent to any civic role.  The foundation  of every social order is householders in stable family units who produce wealth, defend against enemies, and reproduce the next generation. 

     Indeed, as many critics have noted, the chief theme of the entire group of carmina maiora is marriage.  Numbers 61 and 62 are epithalamia, while 64 is about the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, and about Theseus breaking his promise of marrying Ariadne.  65 is an introduction to 66, which details the marital concord between Queen Berenice and her husband; 67 is about the failure of a marriage and 68 about Catullus' reflections on his own adulterous relationship.  Attis’ story in this context is a cautionary exemplum urging identification with the most conventional of virtues: social conservatism, orthodox religion, and patriotism.  That it accomplishes these anodyne ends by a lurid tale, related in a jangly meter describing weird sexual rituals and ecstatic states of possession is typical of that sort of moralizing which titillates by relating misconduct, at once relishing and condemning the violators of norms rather like an exploitation movie.  In a way the poem also resembles a horror film in which an average person is swept up in bizarre violent behavior to which the reader may vicariously thrill while safely out of danger.  Apart from its thematic emphasis on marriage which is never foregrounded, the poem is a sort of thriller with its breathless rush of tumbling lines leading to a fierce theophany.  The reader of the poem can experience enthusiastic excitement and its opposite, rueful depression while secure in the conviction that he would never be tempted to emulate Attis. 

 

1.  Pēdīcābō ego vōs et irrumābō.”

2.  Among the countless parallels of this universal theme are Eve in  the Bible as well as Judith and Salome (one virtuous and one wicked beheader).  In English tradition the ambiguous figure of Mogan le Fay is relevant as are the numerous fairies who, in balladry, capture lovers to carry off to another world as captives.  The persecution of witches is a world-wide indication that the motif did not remain always in the realm of the imagination. 

3.  Self-castration is not, of course, a monopoly of Cybele’s devotees.  For a discussion of the practice in general, see, for instance, J. Wade, “The castrated gods and their castration cults: Revenge, punishment, and spiritual supremacy,” International Journal of Transpersonal Studies, vol. 38, no. 1 (2019).  Daniel F. Caner in “The Practice and Prohibition of Self-Castration in Early Christianity,” Vigiliae Christianae, Vol. 51, No. 4 (Nov., 1997) focuses on the early Christian church of whom the most notable example is Origen.  Cf. in more recent times the Russian Skoptsy and the Hindu hijra (whose act finds precedent in Shiva’s severing of his penis, described in the Mahabharata and which is echoed among the members of Dera Sacha Sauda in India today).  

4.  Ll. 50-73 the specifics are “foro, palaestra, stadioo, et guminasiis” l. 60.

5.  Ferox,” l. 78.

6.  Vir sterilis,” l. 69; “famula,” l. 90, “furoris”, l. 79.

7.  Procul a mea tuus sit furor omnis,” l. 92.