Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses: Recovering a Forgotten Hermeneutic (Editions SR)

EDITIONS SR Volume 25 The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses: Recovering a Forgotten Hermeneutic James G...

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EDITIONS SR Volume 25

The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses: Recovering a Forgotten Hermeneutic

James Gollnick

Published for the Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion/ Corporation Canadienne des Sciences Religieuses by Wilfrid Laurier University Press

1999

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Humanities and Social Sciences Federation of Canada, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Gollnick, James Timothy The religious dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses : recovering a forgotten heremeneutic (Editions SR ; v. 25) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-88920-300-8 1. Apuleius. Metamorphoses. 2. Dreams in literature. I. Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion. II. Title. III. Series. PA6217.G64 1999

873.48'.01

C98-932452-4

© 1999 Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion / Corporation Canadienne des Sciences Religieuses Cover design by Leslie Macredie using a photograph of a Roman statue of Isis (© The British Museum)

Θ Printed in Canada The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius ' Metamorphoses has been produced from camera-ready copy supplied by the author.

All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyrights hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping or reproducing in information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed in writing to the Canadian Reprography Collective, 214 King Street West, Suite 312, Toronto, Ontario M5H 3S6.

Order from: Wilfrid Laurier University Press Waterloo, Ontario, Canada N2L 3C5

Contents

Acknowledgments and Credits

ν

Abbreviations

vii

Foreword

ix

Chapter 1. The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective

1

2. Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses ... 13 3. Dream Interpretation in the Second Century

31

4. Dreams in the Metamorphoses

53

5. The Eros and Psyche Myth: Psychological Interpretations

81

6. The Eros and Psyche Myth: An Archetypal Dream

107

7. Lucius' Religious Experience

127

Conclusion

153

Selected Bibliography

155

Index

172

iii

t his page intentionally left blank

Acknowledgments and Credits

I

am grateful to Stephen Jones, Debbie Thurling-Gollnick, Herbert Richardson and Doreen Armbruster for their assistance in preparing this manuscript. Quotations from J. Winkler's Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius' Golden Ass are reprinted by permission of the University of California Press. Quotations from J. Lindsay's translation of The Golden Ass are reprinted by permission of the Indiana University Press. Quotations from J. Griffiths' translation of The his Book. Metamorphoses 11 are reprinted by permission of E.J. Brill Publishers. The cover photograph of the Isis statue is reprinted by permission of The British Museum.

ν


Abbreviations

AA AC AJP AP BAGB CW GA GAA G&R HSCP IB IL JHS JTS LCM Met. MPL OLZ PCPS PLL REA REL RPh SE TAPA WJA ZAS ZDMG ZPE

Aspects of Apuleius ' Golden Ass L'Antiquité Classique American Journal of Philology Amor und Psyche Bulletin de ΓAssociation G. Budé Collected Works of C.G. Jung The Golden Ass (translated by J. Lindsay) The Golden Ass (translated by Wm. Adlington) Greece and Rome Harvard Studies in Classical Philology The Isis Book (translated by J. Griffiths) L'Information Littéraire Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Liverpool Classical Monthly The Metamorphoses Museum Philologum Londiniense Orientalistische Literaturzeitung Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Papers on Language and Literature Revue des études anciennes Revue des études latines Revue de Philologie Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association Würzburger Jahrbücher fur die Altertumswissenschaft Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

vii


Foreword

T

his study of Apuleius' Metamorphoses seeks to add to an appreciation

of Apuleius the dreamer and the second-century dreamworld in which he lived and wrote. It proposes (1) to show the importance of dreams and the dreamworld to the Metamorphoses; (2) to view the dreamworld of this novel as an accurate reflection of the second-century perspective on dreams, especially those affecting religious transformation; and (3) to offer historical background on the current interest in the role of dreams in psychological and spiritual transformation. Interest in dreams has grown throughout the twentieth century starting with the publication of Freud's monumental Interpretation of Dreams. The important role of dreams in psychoanalysis and psychotherapy as well as the large-scale research effort in dream laboratories since the 1950s testify to this interest, as does the growth of grass-roots dream work in the last two decades. As Wendy Doniger and Kelly Bulkeley point out, one reason to study dreams is to gain insights into the religious concerns of humankind. Humans have been exploring their dreams for millennia, and these explorations have most often been conducted in religious terms and contexts. Thus, if modern dream researchers aspire to a truly comprehensive understanding of dreams and dreaming, they must draw upon the historical work of religious studies.1

This present study attempts to deepen our understanding of the religious roots of dream interpretation and to offer some historical perspective. The Metamorphoses is generally considered to be the book's original name because it is the title found on extant manuscripts. The more familiar title, The Golden Ass, has often been used in translations since the Renaissance2 and is first found in Augustine's City of God (Book 18) where, some critics say, Augustine used it as a sign of contempt for Apuleius, who was an authority in the enemy (pagan) camp. Over the years, though, the meaning of this title has been vigorously debated. James Tatum, for instance, explains that asinus aureus (golden ass) is a colloquial, non-contemptuous phrase meaning "the first-class ass" or "darling donkey."3 He also reminds

Notes to the Foreword are on p. xiii.

IX

Xll

The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses

us of other connotations of the term ass—namely, curiosity, gluttony and prurience, and additionally points out that in the Isis religion, Seth, creator of evil, is symbolized by an ass. John Winkler claims that the title Golden Ass is a powerful paradox, an oxymoron joining the least valuable (ass) with the most valuable (gold).4 Winkler also argues that Augustine read the novel in a manuscript bearing the title Asinus Aureus and therefore considered the title to be Apuleius' own choice. In Winkler's view nothing contemptuous should be read into Augustine's use of the Golden Ass. The novel's other title, the Metamorphoses, captures the "transformations" of shape and form to which Apuleius refers in his opening chapter. Tat il m points out that "metamorphoses" implies a number of stories dealing with a change in form. Citing numerous examples from the first books of the novel, he argues convincingly that there are many instances of change. In contrast, Ben Perry holds that the title refers rather to a generic sense of change implying reflections on, and illustrations of, the general subject. For Perry, the plural title merely suggests a significant motif.5 N. Holzberg contends it is equally valid to argue that the Metamorphoses refers to Lucius' transformation into a follower of Isis as to his early transformation into an ass.6 Without denying the arguments for using the Golden Ass title, this study will refer uniformly to the Metamorphoses because it highlights the transformations central to the novel's religious dreamworld. The following summary of the novel and the Eros and Psyche myth will provide useful background for the discussion to come.

Summary of the Metamorphoses Apuleius' Metamorphoses is the story of Lucius, a young man with great curiosity about witchcraft, who travels to Thessaly on business. Lucius is particularly intrigued by Thessaly because of its reputation as the birthplace of witchcraft and magic. He stays at the home of Milo, a wealthy man who is recommended by one of Lucius' friends from Corinth. After settling in, Lucius wanders the streets and meets Byrrhena, an aunt whom he has not seen in many years. When Byrrhena learns that he is staying with Milo, she warns Lucius that Milo's wife, Pamphile, is a witch who might have designs on him. This warning only serves to arouse Lucius' curiosity and he seduces the serving woman, Fotis, in order to discover the secrets of Pamphile's witchcraft. Fotis agrees to help Lucius and one night she arranges for him to watch Pamphile transform herself into an owl so she can fly to her lover. Lucius is fascinated by this event and tries to duplicate it himself. Fotis tries to help

Foreword

XI

Lucius but unwittingly gives him the wrong jar of magical ointment and, instead of becoming a bird, he is horrified to find that he has turned into a donkey. Fotis tries to reassure Lucius that she knows the antidote, roses, which will return him to human form. She intends to find some roses for him at dawn on the next day but that same night robbers break into the compound, steal Milo's gold and use Lucius, the donkey, to help carry away the gold. With this turn of events, Lucius is unable to get the roses he needs and his trials as a donkey begin. The magnificent centrepiece of the Metamorphoses, the Eros and Psyche myth, appears in the novel soon after Lucius' transformation into a donkey's body. In the robbers' cave he hears an old woman tell the Eros and Psyche tale to comfort a young lady, Charité, whom the robbers have kidnapped and are holding for ransom. Eventually, Charité's fiancé infiltrates the band of robbers and rescues both Charité and Lucius. Since the rose season is now past, Lucius is unable to escape his fate as an ass and passes from owner to owner enduring one humiliation after another. His life is miserable as he is beaten and overworked by the people who keep him. His various masters include a cruel boy, a band of homosexual priests of Cybele, a miller, a farmer, a Roman soldier, a gardener and two cooks. Finally, Lucius is put on display in the public theatre at Corinth where he is to have sex with a woman condemned to die. While the crowd is distracted, Lucius manages to break away and gallop off. He stops running only when he is miles away on a secluded seacoast. Totally exhausted, he falls asleep in the sand at the water's edge. In the night Lucius awakens to a beautiful moon. He is overwhelmed by the power of this magnificent sight which he believes to be an image of the goddess, Isis. In desperation, he begs for her to release him from the misery he has known in his life as an ass and soon falls asleep again. Then, in a dream, Lucius is amazed to see the goddess in the form of a glorious woman who comforts him and promises that she will deliver him from his existence as a donkey. She tells Lucius that on the next day he should join in a procession of her worshippers who will come down to the sea to celebrate the reopening of the navigation season. She foretells that the priest leading the procession will be carrying a garland of roses which Lucius is to pluck from his hand and eat. Isis explains that at the very time she is in Lucius' dream she is simultaneously in the dream of the high priest and is instructing him about his role in Lucius' metamorphosis. Isis also asks Lucius to dedicate his life to her in return for her merciful intervention. All happens exactly as the dream foretells and when Lucius' donkey form fades away, the priest congratulates him on being saved by the great

Xll


goddess and invites him to join in the worship ceremony. Lucius goes with the worshippers back to the temple where he stays so as to devote himself to the goddess. There he continues to be guided by her in dreams and visions. Eventually Isis calls Lucius to undergo the ritual of initiation into her cult. Later, Lucius travels to Rome and there receives a dream vision informing him that he needs another initiation. This he does at considerable cost. Finally, Lucius is called to a third initiation, this time into the cult of Osiris. The god himself assures Lucius in a dream that he will become a famous lawyer. The Metamorphoses concludes with Lucius proud of being able to serve in the ancient society dedicated to Osiris.

Summary of the Eros and Psyche Myth Psyche is the youngest of three daughters of a king and queen. The king, upset because his most beautiful daughter, Psyche, has found no one to marry, consults the oracle of Apollo who orders her to be placed on a mountaintop as the bride for a terrifying monster. After the bridal procession Psyche is left alone to await her fate. Eventually she falls asleep and wakes in a valley at the foot of the mountain where a friendly wind has carried her. In a nearby forest she finds a royal palace where nobody is present and a voice tells her that all the treasures within are hers. After a banquet where food and wine magically appear she retires to her bedroom. Her unknown bridegroom climbs into bed beside her. She does not see him as there is no light in the room and he departs before sunrise. Psyche remains in this strange paradise until her sisters arrive at the palace. Her husband, still unseen, warns Psyche of the sisters' evil intentions but Psyche longs for normal human contact and insists on seeing them. The sisters are envious of Psyche's good fortune. On their third visit they persuade Psyche that her mysterious husband is really the monster spoken of in Apollo's oracle and suggest she use a lamp to see him and a knife to cut off his head while he sleeps. When Psyche tries to follow their plan she is instead overcome by Eros' beauty and passionately embraces him. Oil from Psyche's lamp fails onto Eros' shoulder and he leaps from the bed. He tells her how he disobeyed Aphrodite's order by taking her (Psyche) for his own lover rather than making her fall in love with a worthless person. Eros leaves Psyche and vows that the sisters will pay for their treachery. Psyche despairs and tries to kill herself. She is rescued while the sisters are killed in their attempts to replace Psyche as Eros' lover. Aphrodite is furious when she learns that her son, Eros, did not follow her orders regarding Psyche whom she views as a hated rival. Aphrodite has Psyche brought to her

Foreword

Xlll

and imposes on her four seemingly impossible tasks. Psyche must (1) sort out a heap of mixed grains before nightfall; (2) bring back wool from dangerous rams; (3) fetch a jarful of water from the deadly Styx river; and (4) descend to the realm of Hades to get some of Persephone's ointment. In each case Psyche is able to complete the task with miraculous help. Eros himself rescues Psyche from the deadly sleep which overcomes her as she attempts to carry out the final task. At last Eros and Psyche are allowed to marry and later Psyche gives birth to a daughter named Voluptas.

Notes 1 W. Doniger and K. Bulkeley, "Why Study Dreams? A Religious Studies Perspective" Dreaming: Journal of the Association for the Study of Dreams 3, 1 (1993): 69. 2 J. Tatum, 'Apuleius and Metamorphosis," AJP 93 (1972): 306. 3 J. Tatum, Apuleius and the Golden Ass, p. 17. 4 J. Winkler, Auctor and Actor: Narr etiological Reading of Apuleius ' Golden Ass, p. 293. 5 B. Perry, 'The Significance of the Title in Apuleius1 Metamorphoses" Classical Philology 18(1923): 229-38. 6 N. Holzberg, "Apuleius und der Verfasser des griechischen Eselromans," WJA 10 (1984): 161-77.


Chapter 1

The Dreamworld as Hermeneutical Perspective

We are so captivated by and entangled in our subjective consciousness that we have simply forgotten the age-old fact that God speaks chiefly through dreams and visions. — Carl Jung

A

puleius* Metamorphoses is the literary source for one of the most beautiful and influential stories of all time, the myth of Eros and Psyche. This myth has preoccupied depth psychologists to a degree equalled perhaps only by the Oedipus myth. The novel has also served as a primary source of information about mystery religions in the ancient world; the account of religious experience in Book 11 has allowed psychologists and historians of religion a rare glimpse of religious conversion and initiation in the ancient mystery cults. Yet, except for scholars of religion, religious aspects of this classic tend to be neglected. For those who do appreciate these aspects, Elizabeth Haight's characterization of the Metamorphoses as "the Odyssey of Lucius' soul or an ancient Pilgrim's Progress" is still appropriate.1 Beyond traditional subjects of research on the Metamorphoses, however, lies another which has received relatively little attention, namely, the dreamworld that is illustrated in it. The many dreams found in this work illustrate both the vital importance of dreams in the ancient world and the wide variety of meanings attributed to them. The Metamorphoses offers an engaging portrait of the second-century dreamworld, and the centrality of the religious function and spiritual interpretation of dreams in it make it a rewarding study for the psychology of religion. This monograph, then, brings together dreams and religion. The connection between these two realms is an ancient one, since most religious traditions have viewed dreams as a primary vehicle for communication with the divine.

Notes to Chapter 1 are on pp. 11-12.

1

2


The West, however, has generally focused on rational consciousness and has tended to be suspicious of dreams, at times considering them the work of the Devil Even where Judaism and Christianity recognize the possibility of divine revelation in dreams, they also advise people to evaluate dreams critically in order not to be duped by demons or "false" religions. Precisely because demons were thought responsible for some dreams, St. Paul, for instance, stresses the gift of discernment of spirits. In the early centuries of Christianity , such figures as Justin Martyr, Origen, Tertullian and Athanasius distinguished between dreams sent by God and those sent by the Devil.2 These authors represent the West's ambivalence about, and suspicion of, dreams.3 As we shall see, an ambivalent attitude toward dreams is also evident in Apuleius' novel. The perspective for interpreting the Metamorphoses proposed in this study is relatively unique. It involves highlighting a "genre of dreaming" in Apuleius' work represented by the large number of narratives that recount dreams and comment on their nature (their reliability, absurdities and strange juxtapositions, etc.). My argument is that dreams and dreaming are a contextual genre for making sense out of the novel's many apparent contradictions. Just as in dreams, much of this novel's entertaining narrative functions as a vehicle for expressing underlying truths and meaning. This observation relates directly to the comic-entertainment vs. serious-intention debate which constantly surrounds the Metamorphoses. My approach emphasizes the pervasiveness of the dream and dream atmosphere which help convey the novel's religious significance. Although the Metamorphoses has been studied for almost two millennia, interpretations stressing the role of dreams as a hermeneutical principle for understanding it are almost non-existent. To the degree that scholars have examined these dreams at all, they have tended to stress the content of the dreams and stories about dreams, not their contribution to the whole atmosphere of the novel. While a few commentators have attempted to consider the whole book's dreamlike atmosphere, they have not done so in depth. For example, Henry Ebel emphasizes the dreamlike atmosphere's connection to such themes as the "complete unreliability of appearances, and the resulting ease of transformation of one deceptive solid into another."4 The absurdity of the dream universe, says Ebel, reveals the truth about reality that "we manage to conceal from ourselves in our waking hours."5 The nature of reality, he argues, is such that despite all our attempts to act and be in control, we are ultimately immersed in a condition of being actcd upon. Ebel's view of reality as disclosed in the Metamorphoses is consistent with modern psychological theory, which maintains that our confidence in a rational and predictable universe is easily threatened and undermined.


3

Another commentator, C. Mayrhofer attributes the strangeness of the stories of the Metamorphoses to "assertions of causality that arc contrary to all experience, and yet their context is that of everyday experience."6 At the basis of the book's disquieting quality, according to Mayrhofer, is a mixture of hilarity and distress as well as an aspect of the supernatural. His observations are correct but the dream experience contained in the novel is even more of a factor in creating the novel's strange tone, The Metamorphoses ' uncanny, dreamlike atmosphere is also related, in part, to what Jung calls visionary art or literature. Jung distinguishes between works of art in which the artist is completely in control of the material and those in which a creative complex takes over the artist to some degree.7 When an archetype is involved in this creative complex, Jung calls the work of art "visionary." In literature, such works resemble the world of fairy tales and myths, because archetypal images and motifs are prominent in all of these forms. Apuleius' Metamorphoses clearly shares in the archetypal world of mythology, as evidenced by the central place of the Eros and Psyche myth in the novel. In fact, Jung's description of visionary art fits the book's mysterious atmosphere perfectly: Through our senses we experience the known, but our intuitions point to things that are unknown and hidden, that by their very nature are secret. If ever they become conscious, they are intentionally kept secret and concealed, for which reason they have been regarded from earliest times as mysterious, uncanny, and deceptive. They are hidden from man, and he hides himself from them out of religious awe, protecting himself with the shield of science and reason.... Do wc delude ourselves in thinking that we possess and control our own psyches, and is what science calls the "psyche" not just a question mark arbitrarily confined within the skull, but rather a door that opens upon the human world from a world beyond, allowing unknown and mysterious powers to act upon man and carry him on the wings of the night to a more than personal destiny?8

Jung emphasizes the capacity of visionary art to touch upon the hidden, religious world just beyond our everyday reality. The dreamworld which Apuleius describes partakes of that ultimately "religious" quality of visionary literature, and this is a key reason for its enduring appeal and haunting character.9 To grasp the point about the importance of recognizing dreaming as a "narrative genre" and a hermeneutical tool for understanding the Metamorphoses, consider an example from ordinary experience. If someone greets you in the morning by saying "I'm amazed; I fell through the atmosphere for miles and landed softly in a lush flowering meadow," you have no way to understand the meaning or intention of this communication until you have an

4


idea of its context. But if the person prefaces the statement with "I had the most extraordinary dream last night," you suddenly have a meaningful context for the seemingly bizarre content. Noting that it is a dream immediately affects your reasoning process and allows you to take into account the dream mode of expression. Similarly, signalling the dream as a relevant literary genre for the Metamorphoses allows us to make more sense of the work than if we judge it strictly by the standards of waking consciousness. In contrast to analyses of the Metamorphoses which emphasize either its disconnectedness and lack of serious purpose or its religious intent, a perspective which focuses on the dreamworld of the book can bring these two apparently contradictory views into fruitful relationship with each other. If we view the strange, seemingly disconnected stories in the Metamorphoses in relationship to Apuleius' dreamworld, the work as a whole gains a degree of meaningful coherence. In the early 1900s Freud highlighted the sexual character of dreams and their symbols. While his research may have overemphasized the sexual aspects of dreams, at least it prevents us from ignoring these aspects. The ancients, on the other hand, were primarily interested in the religious dimensions of dreams. Both of these realms, the sexual and the religious, are in fact at the very heart of dreams. By using the "genre of dreaming" as a hermeneutical tool for understanding the Metamorphoses and affirming that the juxtaposition of sacred and sexual is central to dream experience, we can illuminate some of the contradictions which puzzle so many of the novel's readers and interpreters. The dreamworld of the Metamorphoses provides a crucial context for understanding its bizarre character. While this exploration of the religious dreamworld of the Metamorphoses is neither literary criticism nor literary psychology, certain aspects of these enterprises do bear on it. For example, the perspective adopted here is compatible with a methodological assumption fundamental to Jungian literary criticism, namely, that literature expresses the conscious and unconscious mind and feelings of the author. Jos Van Meurs describes this "expressive criticism" as "a psychological criticism that tries to unravel further strands in the "imaginai" life of images, symbols and themes of literary works by using the insights and concepts of depth psychology and the analogies with dreams and myths."10 The present study does indeed seek to unravel a significant thematic strand in the Metamorphoses: the dreamworld surrounding the entire novel. Similarly, "literary psychology" also has a role here. According to Leon Edel, three postulates from psychoanalysis undergird literary psychology: (1) There exists an unconscious which influences human motivation, behaviour, dreams, imaginings and thoughts; (2) certain aspects of the uncon-


5

scious sometimes emerge into awareness in dreams and in the created forms of literature (i.e., the same kinds of unconscious materials that are transformed and disguised in dreams are converted by a literary sensibility into stories or other conscious works of art); and (3) by examining a literary work we can detect deeper intentions and meanings in that work. All three of these postulates enter into this study. While the "disguise" aspect of dreamwork transformation is controversial and not readily accepted by many dream interpreters today, the other part of postulate two is important here, namely, that the same kind of unconscious material that goes into the making of dreams is also at work in the creation of a novel. Dreams and imaginative writing spring from similar unconscious ground in the psyche, an insight that has emerged out of the past century of depth psychology. From this point of view, dreams in actual life and literary dreams in a novel are closely related in that both reveal something of the author's unconscious psyche. Edel expresses this viewpoint concisely: How we walk and how we talk, the nervous impulses that drive our pen across a sheet and give an individual form to our handwriting, the words we speak and the phrases and sentences we build out of them, the images we conjure up and the objects our eyes select, these are all autobiographical acts, so that a book we write is the book of ourselves.11

Much of what Edel says applies to the Metamorphoses. Even where Apuleius is obviously drawing upon existing sources, it is still he who chooses which material to include, thus marking the novel as a reflection of its author. As Edel says, [The writer's] choice of word and image and symbol is his and no one else's; and if he is guilty of plagiarism he has still made a choice in cribbing from one writer rather than from another. It is still a self-revealing act. In a world of multiple choices there is always a reason, although it may be obscure, why one choice is made rather than another.12

The essence of EdePs literary psychology is "the study of what literature expresses of the human being who creates it." 13 Even the most minute choices, such as punctuation marks, reveal the mind of the author.14 Apuleius' preoccupation with dreams in the Metamorphoses is thus autobiographical in at least two ways: (1) every bit of the novel reflects its author; and (2) Apuleius himself was immersed in religious mysteries in which dreams played an extremely influential role. Edel's summary of the contribution of psychoanalysis to the understanding of literature is especially relevant to the genre of dreams in the Metamorphoses. He writes:

6

The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'

Metamorphoses

We have made considerable advances in our understanding of man's symbolic and mythic imagination; what we need is to understand the delicate ways in which metamorphosis takes place in our unconscious. We are constantly engaged in this kind of creation, and all literature is a fabled mythology, a land in which the great artists, using tradition, dream their fabled dreams and redream those of others, in a kind of universal protean play of emotion and mind.15

Edel's notion that literature is where great artists dream their fabled dreams and redream those of others speaks directly to Apuleius' composition of the Metamorphoses, in regard to both the literary dreams he created and the material he borrowed.

Dreams: A Pervasive Theme in the

Metamorphoses

To regard the dream as a literary genre of the Metamorphoses is to emphasize that dreams and dreaming are a persistent theme running throughout the entire work. Later we shall consider how the "dimensions of dream reference" 16 figure into dream analysis and how they relate specifically to this novel. Here we should merely note the extraordinary variety of dream dimensions relevant to the Metamorphoses. The following chart outlines dimensions of dream reference found in Apuleius' novel: (1) somatic (reflecting the state of the dreamer's body); (2) subjective (showing the dreamer's inner state); (3) objective (revealing aspects of the external world); (4) archetypal (reflecting universal human themes); (5) spirit world (connecting the dreamer to spirits of the dead); (6) divine (linking the dreamer to God, the gods or ultimate reality); (7) telepathic (revealing what is in the mind of someone geographically distant from the dreamer); (8) past (replaying events from the dreamer's past experience); (9) present (working over the dreamer's current preoccupations); and (10) future or precognitive (showing future events). That the Metamorphoses presents all of these dimensions is cogent evidence of how significant and foundational the dreamworld is to its very structure. Nearly every book of the Metamorphoses (column one) contains some aspect of dreams. The last two columns reveal the great diversity of these dreams in regard to their function in the story and the variety of dream dimensions involved in their interpretation.


7

Dimensions of Dream Reference in the Metamorphoses

Book No. Story Content

Dimensions of Dream Reference

Dream Material

Function of Dream

1

Aristomenes' Story

Confusion of dream and reality. Witches kill Socrates with magic.

Raises questions about the interrelationship of dream, magic and reality.

somatic objective

2

Thelyphron's Story

Witches mutilate Thelyphron by magic in his sleep.

Heightens questions about dream, reality, magic and the dead. Foreshadows Lucius' work with magic.

objective

4

Charite's Dream of Tlepolemus' Death

Charité foresees Tlepolemus being killed. Old lady says bad dreams often portend good fortune.

Symbolic dream foreshadows Tlepolemus* death. Theory of dream contraries calls into question dream precognition.

precognitive

4-6

Eros and Psyche Myth as Archetypal Dream

Psyche's marriage, loss, trials and reunion with Eros. Her deification.

Deepens the meaning of the story. Summarizes Lucius' sufferings as an ass and anticipates his conversion and union with Isis.

archetypal past present precognitive

8

Charite's Dream of Tlepolemus' Ghost

The ghost reveals hidden events surrounding his death.

Provides Charité with knowledge about Thrasyllus' character and determines her course of action.

spirit world past present

9

Dream of the Baker's Daughter

Baker's ghost reveals causes of his death.

Shows the influence of the dead through dreams and their access to hidden knowledge.

spirit world telepathic past

11 6

Lucius' First Dream of Isis

Isis comforts Lucius and promises to return him to human form.

Causes Lucius to redirect his life toward Isis.

divine present subjective

11» 19

Lucius' Nightly Dreams of Isis

Lucius contemplates Isis in his dreams at the temple.

Dreams carry on Lucius' continual contemplation of Isis.

divine present subjective

11,20

Lucius' Dream of Candidus' Return

Lucius iearns that a servant of his will arrive.

Symbolically predicts return of his horse. Marks full recovery of things lost in his life as an ass.

precognitive subjective

Lucius sees the priest who will initiate him into the cult of Osiris. The god calls Lucius to a third initiation.

Precipitates Lucius' initiation into Osiris' mysteries. Simultaneous visions show underlying unity of spiritual world.

precognitive telepathic subjective

11, 27, 30 Lucius' Dreams of the Priest of Osiris and of the god

8


Dreams Shaping the Plot We should also, at this stage, observe the pervasiveness of the dream motif by the way dreams contribute to the plot in so many books of the Metamorphoses. Early in the novel, dreams foreshadow things to come and help create a mysterious, uncanny atmosphere. They call attention to the illusory character of reality and the fuzzy line between dreaming and waking reality. In Book 1, for instance, Aristomenes' story raises questions about the interrelationship of dreams, magic and reality. Magical events begin happening around midnight when Aristomenes is falling asleep. Do two witches actually break into his room to kill Socrates, his roommate for the night, or is this event part of Aristomenes' dream? Later on, we learn that both men are themselves confused about whether or not the witches were really in the room and attacked Socrates. When Aristomenes tries to sort out his experience, he recalls that too much wine and food can influence dreams and even bring on nightmares. We find out afterwards that the witches were actually there. Nevertheless, the uncertainty of Aristomenes and Socrates about whether these events were real or a dream largely creates the eerie feelings aroused by the story. Both the somatic and the objective dimensions of dream reference are involved here. Aristomenes' wondering about the effects of drinking on his sleep and dreams refers to the somatic dimension, whereas the connection of this dreamlike experience to the way things turn out in the story is based on the objective dimension, where dream images refer to realities outside the dreamer. In Book 2, the story of Thelyphron heightens the questions about the relationship between dreams, reality, magic and the dead. Thelyphron takes on the job of guarding a corpse so that witches will not come to take pieces off the corpse's face for their magical concoctions. While Thelyphron falls asleep, witches do indeed come to mutilate him and the corpse. This story shows that magic enters the world at night through the doors of sleep. But, as in Aristomenes' story, what part is dream and what part magic or waking reality? Thelyphron's story also foreshadows Lucius' own experience with magic and its dangers. The objective dimension of dream reference is the one most prominent in this story, in that the connection to external reality is emphasized in Thelyphron's sleep experience. In Books 4 and 8, Charite's dreams reveal the dreamworld's strange connections to the future and the spirit world. Her dream in Book 4 shows the murder of her lover Tlepolemus by one of the robbers who have kidnapped her. While it portrays the death differently than how it happened in reality, the dream nevertheless is genuinely precognitive in anticipating his murder.


9

Apuleius arranges the plot so that Charite's dream accurately predicts a murder—a clear sign that he is aware of the tradition which strongly affirms the ability of dreams to foretell the future. When Charité tells her precognitive nightmare to the old lady who is with her, the old lady tries to console her with the familiar dream theory of contradictories. She states that dreams often show the very opposite of what will come to pass, so Charité should not worry about the murder portrayed in her dream. Here, Apuleius plays the theory of contradictories against the powerful belief in dream precognition. From his arrangement of the plot, the precognitive dream tradition appears to win. The Eros and Psyche myth, considered as an archetypal dream, contributes impressively to the novel's dreamlike character. This myth/dream 17 constitutes a major portion of the novel, extending from Book 4 to Book 6. As an archetypal dream, the Eros and Psyche story summarizes Lucius' past experiences and forecasts his future conversion and religious transformation. In recapitulating Lucius' life, it represents the past dimension of dream reference. By reflecting his present situation and future spiritual developments, it involves both the present and precognitive dimensions. The archetypal dimension of this story is evident as Lucius' dream links his experience with the universal themes of loss, wandering and redemption embodied in the Eros and Psyche myth. Charite's second dream occurs in Book 8, following the death of her husband Tlepolemus. Charité is overwhelmed with grief and can hardly carry on the duties of living, yet Thrasyllus continues to pursue her and insist on marriage. While depressed and confused, she dreams of her dead husband. He appears with blood on his face and reveals that Thrasyllus arranged his murder and made it look like a hunting accident. The dream shocks Charité and moves her to avenge her husband's murder. She arranges a meeting with Thrasyllus, drugs him and blinds him by plunging a large hairpin into his eyes. Then she runs to the tomb of her dead husband and commits suicide. This dream has a powerful influence on Charite's life and determines her course of action. It provides her with knowledge about Thrasyllus' character and motivation, thus illustrating the present dimension of dream reference. It also reveals the hidden events surrounding Tlepolemus' death, thereby representing the past dimension. Finally, it indicates that dreams can link the dreamer to the spirit world. In Book 9, the dream of the baker's daughter shows the influence of the dead through dreams and their access to hidden knowledge, much as in Charite's dream of her husband's ghost. Here the baker's daughter dreams of her father's ghost, who communicates the entire situation surrounding his

10


death by magic and hanging. Both stories highlight the spirit-world dimension of dream reference, portraying how spirits from the dead appear in dreams to reveal knowledge not available through the five senses. This story connects the dream to the telepathic and past dimensions as well, since the ghost reveals something which happened in the past that the dreamer did not know through her ordinary sensory channels. The novel's last book contains the heaviest concentration of dream material and highlights the divine dimension of dream reference, thus foregrounding the ultimately religious character of Apuleius' dreamworld. Lucius' first dream of the goddess Isis is pivotal in the novel, as it motivates him to redirect his entire life. In the dream, Isis promises to help Lucius escape his entrapment in the body of an ass, and she foretells the details of this transformation. Strikingly, the goddess is simultaneously present in Lucius' dream and in the dream of the priest who will aid him in his metamorphosis. Beyond the divine dimension, the present and subjective dimensions are evident too, since the dream addresses Lucius' present dilemma and state of mind. After his conversion and return to human form, Lucius takes up residence within the temple precinct (Met. 11, 19), worshipping Isis continuously as his daytime contemplation extends into sleep. In his dreams the goddess prepares him for initiation into the sacred mysteries. The divine dimension is clearly central in this dream sequence, which represents the ancient belief that humans are linked to God or the gods in dreams. Also illustrated here are the present and subjective dimensions, as these dreams deal with Lucius' current preoccupation with his upcoming initiation and his attitude toward Isis. During his nightly dream contemplation of Isis, Lucius has a puzzling dream about receiving gifts from Thessaly, including his slave, Candidus. The next day the servants he had left behind arrive unexpectedly, along with his old horse, Candidus. Lucius marvels at the dream's precognitive accuracy and its way of symbolizing the return of his servants and horse in a single condensed image. The precognitive dimension stands out, with the dream so cleverly anticipating Lucius' happy reunion with his former servants and his horse. As well, the dream helps portray Lucius' subjective state as he prepares for initiation and the threads of his entire life seem to come together, reuniting him with his old friends from his pre-asinine days. The final dream sequence reaffirms the novel's religious dreamworld. These dreams precipitate Lucius' initiation into the Osiris mysteries (Met. 11, 27-30). Initially Lucius is confused by a dream in which Isis speaks to him about religious rites of initiation. Since he was already a full initiate of her cult, he wondered at the dream's message. He consults a temple priest who tells him that another initiation awaits him, this time into the cult of Osiris,


11

the supreme Father of the gods. Lucius is to wait for a dream invitation from the god, which comes in the form of a devotee of Osiris who explains the ceremonies of initiation. Further, the priest displays a limp and an injury to his foot. In the dream Lucius understands he should look for this priest the next day. When he approaches a priest resembling the one in his dream, he is amazed to find that this priest had, on the previous night, a visionary experience at the statue of Osiris. The god informed him that a man from Madaura was being sent to him for initiation. Not only the divine dimension, but the precognitive dimension is highlighted here, as the dream leads Lucius to the very priest who would later initiate him into the mysteries of Osiris. This dream also involves the telepathic dimension, in that the priest signals to Lucius that he can be identified by a foot injury when they meet the next day. Further dreams in this sequence permit Lucius to carry on his relationship with Osiris, who reassures him about his forthcoming initiation and his future success in the legal profession.

Notes 1 E. Haight, Apuleius and His Influence, p. 38. 2 Morton Kelsey's God, Dreams and Revelation: A Christian Interpretation of Dreams examines this ambivalent attitude toward dreams in the Judeo-Christian tradition. 3 In Spiritual Dreaming: A Cross-Cultural and Historical Journey, Kelly Bulkeley summarizes this critical Western attitude: "A thorough distrust of dreams is certainly the safest hermeneutic attitude one can take from a political perspective— rejecting all dreams keeps a person out of trouble with the authorities. The writer of the book of Sirach, the Eastern Orthodox fathers, the monk of Antiochus, and Martin Luther all warn that dreams can lead people to stray from religious orthodoxy. . . . A total distrust of dreams is also the safest hcrmeneutic stance one can take from a purely intellectual perspective. For those who believe that rationality is our greatest faculty, the stubbornly irrational phenomenon of dreaming can only be regarded as a nuisance" (p. 165). 4 H. Ebel, After Dionysus: An Essay on Where We Are Now, p. 30. 5 Ibid., p. 31. 6 C. Mayrhofer, "On Two Stories in Apuleius," Antichthon 9 (1975): 79. 7 C. Jung, The Spirit in Man, Art and Literature, in CWf vol. 15, pp. 87-99. 8 Ibid., pp. 94-95. 9 Another aspect of visionary art described by Jung, its inherent contradictions and paradoxes, might also apply to the Metamorphoses: "Since the expression can never match the richness of the vision and can never exhaust its possibilities, the poet must have at his disposal a huge store of material if he is to communicate even a fraction of what he has glimpsed, and must make use of difficult and contradictory images in order to express the strange paradoxes of his vision" (ibid., p. 97). Visionary art contains these conflicting images because it expresses some-

12

10

11 12 13 14 15 16

17


Metamorphoses

thing of the complex of opposites Jung calls the collective unconscious. This may be why he says "a great work of art is like a dream"—it taps into the deep layers of the psyche in the same way dreams do. The strange juxtaposition of bawdy stories and religious conversion in Apuleius' work may thus actually be a reflection of its dreamlike, visionary character. J. Van Meurs, "Jungian Literary Criticism," in C.G. Jung and the Humanities: Towards a Hermeneutics of Culture, edited by K. Barnaby and P. D'Acierno, p. 248. L. Edel, The Modern Psychological Novel, p. 113. Ibid., p. 113. L. Edel, Stuff of Sleep and Dreams: Experiments in Literary Psychology, p. 12. Ibid., pp. 24-25. Ibid., p. 41. The term "dimensions of dream reference" indicates there are certain dimensions of reality referred to in dreams. Any particular dream may refer to one or more of these dimensions of reality. The term "myth/dream" emphasizes that this myth can also be treated a an archetypal dream; this connection will be explored in Chapters 5 and 6.

Chapter 2

Literary Dreams and the Nature

of the Metamorphoses

The history of literary dreams reveals a consistently adamant uncertainty as to precisely where the boundary lies between life—the objective reality—and life—the subjective dream. — Kenneth and Vincent Atchity, "Dreams, Literature and the Arts"

Literary Dreams

W

hat is the relationship between literary dreams and real dreams? What is the relation between the dreams of the Metamorphoses1 and Apuleius' own dreamlife and unconscious? To answer these questions, we must be clear at the outset that the Metamorphoses is not a treatise on dreams, but a complex novel that has given rise to lively, even heated, debates about its nature and intent. The literary dreams contained in the novel may have a strong possible connection to the religious world of Apuleius himself, but we must first recognize their role in the narrative itself. On the one hand, we can be certain that the dreams and dream theories found in the Metamorphoses are integral to the plot and are intended to produce a specific literary effect. On the other hand, we should not overlook the obvious link between literary dreams and real dreams. When authors introduce dreams in a novel, they expect that readers will relate to them on the basis of their own understanding of the way things happen in dreams. A. Kessels makes this point forcefully in regard to the Homeric poems: "Literary dreams must reflect real dreams,"2 and elaborates further: [T]he fact that dreams in literature are called "dreams" suggests that they are conscious imitations of actual dreams, adapted to suit literary requirements. It is therefore likely that the pattern of dreams such as found in the Homeric

Notes to Chapter 2 are on pp. 28-30. 13

14

The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius' Metamorphoses poems reflects îo a certain extent the pattern of real dreams (whether of all dreams, is another matter).3

The dream pattern of which he speaks refers to the cultural pattern of dreams found in a particular society at a particular time. Modern anthropological research on dreams recognizes the role of cultural dream theory and expectation in forming that pattern. Barbara Tedlock, for example, points out that the manifest dream (the dream as remembered) should be considered to include not just the dream report but also a society's dream theories, ways of sharing dreams and the cultural code for dream interpretation.4 Similarly, Benjamin Kilborne argues that cultural values and individual dream experience are inextricably linked. He looks to systems of dream classification to shed light on a culture's view of the role dreams play in that society; in his view, the very existence of a dream classification system reveals the importance of dreams in a given society.5 All these factors contribute to making up the cultural pattern of dreams, a pattern which likely determines the way dreams are experienced in a society, or at least the way they are remembered and reported. For example, Kessels speculates that the widespread practice of "dream incubation"6 in the Greco-Roman world would have influenced the pattern of dreams thought significant and worth recording. Kessels observes another factor likely influenced the character of literary dreams in the ancient world. These dreams often lack the fantastic or unusual dream elements frequently reported in dreams of our own day. One reason for this, he points out, is that incoherent dreams do not as clearly serve a literary purpose, especially when that purpose is to show how the gods influence the story plot. Many of the principles Kessels cites are applicable to this study of the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses, as will be seen in Chapter 3. Questions about the nature of literary dreams have concerned not only literary scholars but also psychoanalysts. In an early work, Delusions and Dreams in Jensens Gradiva, Freud considers the value of dealing with literary dreams: "The notion of submitting this class of dreams [literary dreams] to an investigation might seem a waste of energy and a strange thing to undertake; but from one point of view it could be considered justifiable."7 What he finds valuable about such dreams is that novelists often introduce them in order to show the psychological state of a character: "[W]hen an author makes the characters constructed by his imagination dream, he follows the everyday experience that people's thoughts and feelings are continued in sleep and he aims at nothing else than to depict his heroes' states of mind by their dreams." 8 In analyzing Jensen's Gradiva, Freud examines the psychological plausibility of both the action and the dreams in the novel. The author, he says,

Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses

15

presents a "correct psychiatric study, on which we may measure our understanding of the workings of the mind." 9 He especially appreciates Jensen's linking of the dreams of Gradiva to the delusion at the heart of the story in a way which rings true to Freud's own analytical experience. Freud also applies some basic psychoanalytic principles of dream interpretation to Jensen's work to illustrate how literary dreams can often be made more intelligible than they might otherwise be. While we might expect more conscious involvement in the shaping of literary dreams compared to real dreams, Freud points to the key role of consciousness in creating real dream reports too. He speaks of "secondary elaboration" to emphasize the degree to which the dream as remembered is greatly influenced by the work of the conscious mind in filling in gaps and turning discontinuous dream elements into a coherent dream report. In this way the conscious shaping of real dreams is not totally dissimilar to the artistic shaping of literary dreams. Following Freud's inspiration, George Devereux, a psychoanalyst and anthropologist, set out to demonstrate that the literary dreams in ancient Greek tragedy are genuinely dreamlike. From a psychoanalytic point of view, he shows how the essential components of real dreams can be found in the ancient literary dreams. He applies in a creative, though not always convincing, manner such central Freudian ideas as the dream wish, the dream censor, symbolization, overdetermination of dream symbols and secondary elaboration. Devereux contrasts what he regards as the genuinely dreamlike character of literary dreams in Greek tragedy with the non-dreamlike nature of literary dreams in the Homeric poems.10 He extends this latter evaluation to other dreams passed down from the ancient world, namely, those of Aristides and Artemidorus, whose views on dreams we shall soon consider. In regard to both of these authors, Devereux sees a rather heavy-handed secondary elaboration in their transforming what he assumes are their actual dreams into the dreams recorded in their works. In the case of Aristides, he believes the secondary elaboration was guided by Aristides' neurotic waking needs and wishes. In Artemidorus' case, the conscious elaboration of his clients' dreams was directed by Artemidorus' need to mould them to his own expectations about dream interpretation.11 Kelly Bulkeley has recently attempted to develop criteria to determine how "real" any particular literary or historical dream might be. Like Freud, he recognizes that some literary dreams follow very closely the psychological dynamics of real dreams. In evaluating the dreams of Abram and Jacob in the Hebrew scriptures, Bulkeley finds that they correspond to real dreams because both involve basic existential questions of how humans relate to the

16


divine, and are framed by situations that make these existential questions real living concerns. These factors contribute to our sense that these are either real dreams or at least are grounded in the way real dreams work: "But if these dreams are nothing more than literary creations, then their authors did a flawless job of grounding the fictional dreams in the real spiritual potentials of dreaming. Perhaps that is why these spiritual dreams have achieved the status of 'classics.' " 1 2 This statement might well apply to the dreams of the Metamorphoses, especially Lucius' dreams in Book 11. Bulkeley also looks to certain elements in the literary setting which correspond to the physical context of real dreams: One key characteristic is, of course, a night setting: to the extent that humans usually sleep, and dream, at night, extraordinary visionary experiences that occur at night stand a good chance of being dreams. Another distinctive characteristic is the person's physical positions: if the person is lying down, in bed, or in some dark, enclosed place like a cave, and has an extraordinary visionary experience, there's a strong chance that it is a dream. Similarly, there are temporal characteristics that indicate an experience is likely a dream: e.g., if we are told that, right after the experience, morning came or the person woke up.

As we shall see later, some of these factors are at work in the religious dreams of Lucius and suggest that Apuleius has deliberately modelled his literary dreams after real dreams. Even after examining psychological and contextual aspects of literary dreams, Bulkeley concludes that in many cases of dreams found in literary and historical texts, we cannot be absolutely certain how close they are to "real" dreams: There is no simple, clear-cut distinction between "real" and "fictional" dreams. It is more accurate and more helpful to posit a continuum between an individual's private, intrapsychic experiences during sleep ("real" dreams) and publicly reported, culturally elaborated accounts of such experiences ("fictional" dreams).14

This notion of such a spectrum, running from real dreams to fictional dreams, offers a helpful way to approach the limitations of studying literary dreams. Bulkeley reminds us that there are always limits to getting at "real" dreams when studying dream reports from everyday life or even our own dream reports. What exactly is a "real" dream anyway? Is it ever possible, even in the best of circumstances, to get access to "real" dreams? Modern dream research is leading us toward the frustrating conclusion that it may not be possible. Written dream reports certainly do not give us access to the "real" dream, even when


17

the reports are written by the dreamer immediately upon awakening, because such reports are inevitably distorted by the structures of language and grammar and by people's variable abilities to communicate their experiences. Even the dreamer's own private memory of the dream does not give a reliable access to the "real" dream, because such memories are always distorted by time, by psychological resistances, and by the cognitive structures that govern memory.15

Following Bulkeley, once we recognize the inherent limitations of studying both literary and real dreams we will be less likely to conclude we have grasped the "original dream" in any final sense. Such a respectful attitude toward the mystery of dreams is an appropriate starting point for our study.

Apuleius' Life in Relation to the Metamorphoses How is the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses connected to Apuleius' life? Many scholars argue that the novel is at least partially autobiographical. While there are numerous gaps in our knowledge about his life, what we do know about Apuleius comes primarily from his own works and reveals him to be a man of remarkably diverse talents: "Through his extant writings he is revealed as romantic novelist, brilliant lawyer, popular lecturer and Platonic philosopher, and through his many styles he presents an unparalleled picture of life in the second century of our era" 1 6 Apuleius was born in Madaura, a Roman colony in Africa. His father was a leading citizen in the town and a chief official in the colony. Apuleius studied at Carthage, Athens and Rome. According to his own account, he explored such subjects as literature, rhetoric, dialectic, poetry, geometry, music and philosophy. Exactly when he wrote the Metamorphoses, his best-known work, is widely debated, but it was possibly towards the end of his literary career after he settled down in Carthage.17 The date and place of Apuleius' death are not known. One of the most important primary sources for the life of Apuleius is his Apologia, where he defends himself at a trial in Sabrata, presumably when Claudius Maximus was proconsul (ca. 158-59 CE). Apuleius defends himself against charges of being immoral, of having won his elderly wife, Pudentilla, by sorcery, and of marrying her in order to obtain her money. He successfully fends off these attacks and in the course of his defence declares that he learned many religious mysteries, rites and ceremonies out of religious fervour and a desire to seek truth.18 Among the mysteries Apuleius refers to are secret rites associated with the cult of Isis. Apuleius scholar John Griffiths concludes that these Isiac rites are the basis for the authenticity of the religious experience described in Book 11:

18


Metamorphoses

Apuleius may be regarded as conveying in Book XI his own experience as an lsiac initiate. This means that his testimony is of inestimable value as evidence for the cult of Isis at a Greek centre. .. . [Apuleius] is concerned for the most part with a particular rite in a particular place. Within this limitation his work has an immediacy and an elaboration of detail that are quite rare in our sources for ancient religion.19

True to form for an lsiac initiate, Apuleius states in chapter 56 of the Apologia that he would not reveal to the uninitiated the secrets of the religious mysteries he received and swore to conceal in a vow of secrecy. Interestingly, Apuleius has Lucius make the same statement in Book 11 of the Metamorphoses. R. Van der Paardt states concisely the view of those who find the Metamorphoses to be at least partially autobiographical, contending that "anyone who knows that the author of the novel is from Madauros cannot but conclude that a confusion or blending of author and narrator has taken place." 20 The key passage from Book 11, where Lucius is referred to as "a man from Madaura," is bound to surprise the reader who was previously led to believe that Lucius was a Greek from Corinth.21 Van der Paardt offers three options: (1) Apuleius simply made an error; (2) the available manuscripts are corrupt; or (3) there is a blending of author and Lucius, in which Lucius becomes the author's alter ego.22 Related arguments come from Antonie Wlosok and K. Alpers. Wlosok believes that Apuleius created his novel in the service of religious propaganda,23 and Alpers characterizes it as both an allegorical miracle story ("allegorische Wundererzählung" ) and an allegorical autobiography. Alpers views Lucius' transformation into an ass as a portrayal of Apuleius' own previous immersion in magic and eroticism.24 Similarly, although contending that few critics would follow St. Augustine in assuming the author and narrator of the novel are identical, Warren Smith, Jr., does see aspects of Apuleius' religiosity showing through the Metamorphoses: "To demonstrate the depth of his emotional commitment to these powerful deities (Isis and Osiris), the author takes the unusual step of intruding personally into his narrative, in order to testify that the glory of acceptance by Isis and Osiris is what matters most to him."25 Smith believes that when Apuleius reveals his own religious commitment in Book 11, he discards the ironic stance he had previously adopted. At the extreme end of those who see in the Metamorphoses Apuleius' own experience, other than St. Augustine, stands Elizabeth Haight, who claims that "from behind the long-eared, long-nosed mask of the ass peers not only the hero Lucius, but Apuleius himself." 26 She sees Book 11 as Apuleius' spiritual confession, very much in the spirit of those powerful

Literary Dreams and the Nature of the

Metamorphoses

19

accounts found in William James' Varieties of Religious Experience, a book to which we shall refer extensively later. The Metamorphoses is, for her, a serious book which is "an illustration of a sincere autobiographical account of conversion, and probably represents Apuleius' own religious history."27 Not all critics agree on this issue. Pierre Grimai argues for a very limited relationship between Apuleius and his hero Lucius. Grimai maintains that while the Metamorphoses is a result of Apuleius' personal creation rather than a product of a pre-existing tradition, the reader should not assume that everything Apuleius says about Lucius applies to himself.28 Others who distance Apuleius from the narrator Lucius include C. Wright,29 G. Ginsburg30 and D. Robertson. Robertson emphasizes that the only valid reason for identifying Apuleius and Lucius is the word "Madaurensem" (Met. 11, 27) which signifies that Lucius, like Apuleius, is from Madauros. He additionally argues that occurrences of this word are textual corruptions that may have resulted from a copying error.31 More recently, John Winkler disputes the view that Apuleius is simply dropping his disguise in Book 11: [T]he hypothesis that Lucius is a simple handpuppet and that his ego is really Apuleius's is difficult to maintain. . . . One must admit that the itch to find more Apuleius in Lucius is a very real and important response to qualities of the text, but with only the single word Madaurensem as our key to uncode the life of Lucius as the life of Apuleius the project cannot progress beyond the vaguest categories—spiritual Odyssey, unredeemed humanity, quasi-bestial life, servile lust—the predictable rhetoric of moralists everywhere.32

For our purposes we do not need to identify Apuleius with his chief character Lucius, but only go as far as Winkler in recognizing that Apuleius does provide an accurate account of the two central concerns of this work, namely, the dreamworld and religion of his age. Apuleius himself may stop short of advocating all that is involved in these perspectives on dreams and religion, but he presents and preserves them in a powerful, authentic way.

The Nature of Apuleius' Metamorphoses Apuleius' novel combines in a remarkable way descriptions of serious religious experience with the sexual explicitness of bawdy tales. Precisely this sharp contrast between the sacred and the frivolous has inspired countless interpretations of the novel's meaning and its author's intention. These interpretations fall into three general categories: (1) those stressing the novel's serious meaning; (2) those highlighting its comic aspects; and (3) those emphasizing its unity despite the sharp contrast between the wild tales of Books 1-10 and the moving description of religious conversion in Book ll. 3 3

20


Metamorphoses

What follows below will give the reader at least a sense of the diversity of interpretations and the main issues involved. More than twenty-five years ago, Alex Scobie classified early interpretations of the Metamorphoses into two opposing camps—comic versus serious—attributing these tendencies primarily to the work's size and complexity. In a work of the length and scope of the Golden Av.v it is possible for the exponents of both views to extract limited evidence from the mass of material to support their own tine of argument. . . . Inevitably, these two viewpoints, the comic and the serious, have tended to be mutually exclusive. Both sides acknowledge the existence of material which for the sake of maintaining the consistency of their own views, they have been compelled to underestimate or neglect completely.34

Scobie's analysis tries to overcome the comic-serious dichotomy, because it emphasizes the inherent unity of Apuleius' work in spite of its complexity. Similarly, R. Van der Paardt seeks to preserve its complexity—and its "multiinterpretability."35 If we take this advice seriously, we shall be less inclined to look for a single or simple answer to questions about the genre and meaning of this difficult work. Now we must turn to a brief sample of the wide range of interpretations of the Metamorphoses that have been offered over the centuries.

No Serious Intent Ben Perry is likely the commentator who has argued most forcefully for a completely comic interpretation of the Metamorphoses and against any serious religious or philosophical purpose in it. In the 1920s Perry devoted much effort to showing the relationship of the Metamorphoses to another ancient work, the Onos (also called Lucius Or The Ass), which has a number of elements in common with Apuleius' novel. Perry is persuaded that both works are derived independently from a lost Greek original,16 and stresses how radically different the Metamorphoses is from the Onos. In particular, the crucial story of Eros and Psyche is Apuleius' insert,37 as well as the pivotal religious experience in Book 11 : Here, in place of the farcical ending given in the Onos, which is thoroughly consistent with the spirit and tone of the preceding narrative, Apuleius substitutes a long and solemn description of religious mysteries. The mere fact that this ending differs radically from that in the Onos is sufficient proof of its Apuleian origin, though there are many other indications to the same effect.38 One should not imagine that Perry believes the seriousness and power of the religious experience in Book 11 forge a significant unity in the Metamor-


21

phoses. On the contrary, Perry finds no such value in the material Apuleius brought to his novel: "In view of this general lack of unity and consistency, as well as for other reasons, those critics who attempt to find in the Metamorphoses as a whole any sustained artistic or philosophic purpose other than that of variety and entertainment, are not very convincing."39 Perry dismisses the religious conversion in Book 11 as one of Apuleius' momentary enthusiasms. For Perry, the extraordinary diversity of material and inconsistencies in the narrative show that Apuleius was not careful and had no demonstrable purpose in composing this novel.40 Albin Lesky's judgment on the diverse elements of the Metamorphoses is more moderate although he agrees with Perry's rejection of any serious moral or religious purpose therein.41 For Lesky, Apuleius' diversity is merely his way of entertaining the reader. C. Rubino also argues against the work's unity but from the viewpoint of Northrop Frye's theory of genres.42 He sees the Metamorphoses as a combination of diverse genres, namely, romance, confession and satire—a mixture that does not add up to any kind of real unity. For her part, critic Frances Norwood rejects any notion of serious religious intent in the novel. She dismisses the religious experience of Book 11 as rhetorical showmanship but, unlike the other critics, she does trace a unifying theme in the novel,43 seeing Lucius' interest in experiences of magic and the ass' preoccupation with finding roses as evidence of a significant search motif. Finally, Pierre Grimai grants a certain sincerity to Apuleius' account of initiation in Book 11, and he is less critical of the novel's literary diversity than some of the critics. In fact, he sees this quality as a reflection of the work's originality, which reads as an authentic blend of literary and spiritual experience 44 Overall, these interpretations recognize the novel's diversity, but fail to appreciate its larger purpose.

Unity and Serious Intent Several generations ago Paul Junghanns argued for the novel's unitary character on the basis of repeated themes such as stories about robbers, murder and adultery. During this same period of scholarship Elizabeth Haight stands out as one of the chief exponents of the novel's unity. As mentioned before, she bases her arguments primarily on her evaluation of Lucius' search for the spiritual meaning of life as "a sort of Pilgrim's Progress."45 Haight also calls attention to the relationship between Apuleius' Platonic conception of the Eros and Psyche myth, where Psyche is saved by the god Eros, and Lucius' story, where he in turn is saved by the goddess Isis. Haight believes that this connection between Lucius and Psyche helps unify the novel.

22


Apuleius' Platonism Other commentators have emphasized the role of Platonic thought in providing unity to the Metamorphoses. Carl Schlam, for example, finds an abundance of Platonic concepts and motifs there,46 and focuses on the familiar Platonic theme of the human being's separation from the divine and the continuous struggle involved in bridging this chasm. For Schlam, the novel shows the difference between magic (as an attempt to manipulate the divine for human ends) and the mysteries (as a reverent union with the divine) in overcoming this gap 47 Raoul Mortlcy sees Apuleius' refusal to develop his theological viewpoint as a result of his Platonic commitment to the ineffability of God.48 R Walsh also underscores Apuleius' Platonism: [Apuleius] was regarded by his contemporaries, and more important by himself, as first and foremost a Platonist. It is beside the point that he is nowadays regarded as an indifferent practitioner; everything he writes bears the stamp of his Neoplatonist outlook, and The Golden Ass is pre-eminently a fable which synthesises Platonist philosophy with lsiac religion.49

Walsh points out that this type of Platonism is closer to the views of Plutarch than to those of Plato himself.50 Reminiscent of Scobie and Van der Paardt, Walsh acknowledges the presence of contrasting modes of comedy and serious intent in the Metamorphoses as a reflection of Apuleius' multi-faceted personality. [T]here is in fact a central ambivalence in the romance, a tension between Milesian ribaldry and Platonist mysticism, which reflects the complexity of the author's personality. .. . This extraordinary romance becomes finally not only entertainment and fable simultaneously, but also religious apologia."51

Walsh also speculates that Apuleius composed the novel at two different periods: a youthful Apuleius would have been responsible for bringing together the bawdy tales, while an older Apuleius would have added the Eros and Psyche tale and the religious conversion.52 Writing in a similar vein, Antonie Wlosok sees the Isis religion, so prominent in Book 11, as the fulfillment of Apuleius' Platonism. Wlosok convincingly argues for the novel's unity. She cites the following reasons: (1) the parallels between Lucius' experiences and the story of Eros and Psyche, the novel's centrepiece; (2) the competing roles of Fortuna and Isis; (3) the relationship between the ass form into which Lucius is transformed and the symbol of the ass in the Isis cult; and (4) the leitmotif of curiosity in the novel. Joseph DeFilippo has specifically attempted to link this curiosity motif to Apuleius' Platonism. He examines the relationship between curiosity


23

and Platonic images and metaphors for the soul, and argues that Apuleius' Platonism strongly influences how he presents curiosity as ingrained in Lucius' character. While DeFilippo recognizes that the Metamorphoses cannot be read as a moralistic treatise on Platonism, he does believe that the novel's many Platonic associations justify a serious interpretation of it as a whole. According to DeFilippo, "the Middle Platonist synthesis of Platonic philosophy and lsiac religion offered Apuleius a handy matrix of meaningladen symbols and themes," 53 and within this matrix Apuleius assembled a story which includes serious moral intent.

The Curiosity Motif Curiosity is indeed a significant theme in the Metamorphoses. Apuleius is in fact responsible for the growing popularity of the word curiositas: it appears in extant literature only once prior to him in a letter of Cicero, but it occurs twelve times in the Metamorphoses.54 Walsh tries to show the curiosity theme is a key to understanding the novel. One of the first scholars to focus on this motif was H. Mette,55 who outlines how it links the Eros and Psyche myth to the story of Lucius. He shows how Psyche's curiosity leads her to disaster in the same way that Lucius' curiosity propels him into his series of catastrophes. According to Mette, the curiosity motif helps bring out the aspects of religious allegory throughout the novel. Analogously, A. Labhardt traces the history of the Latin word curiositas and shows how Apuleius gave a new dimension to the concept of curiosity by viewing it from a religious perspective.56 Labhardt also notes, in agreement with Mette, that both Tertullian and Augustine follow Apuleius' use of the term curiositas in their own attacks on the curiosity associated with heresy and magic. In a related study, S. Lancel argues that Apuleius himself only condemned the curiosity associated with magic, not the curiosity about marvel s (mirabilia). To complete our survey, we should also note that H. Ruediger offers a valuable survey of the work of French scholars on the curiosity theme.57 For Gerald Sandy, this theme along with the development of Lucius' character tie up many of the Metamorphoses' seemingly loose ends and help fashion it into a coherent whole.58 More recently Nancy Shumate has considered the role of curiosity in relation to Lucius' moral character and values. For Shumate, who contends that "no one would deny that curiosity is one of the primary engines of action in the Metamorphoses " 5 9 curiosity contributes to the broader question of Lucius' values. She sees the religious theme of turning from false values as the key to the novel's unity.

24


Other Approaches to the Unity of the Metamorphoses William Stephenson provides an unusual twist to arguments for the novel's unity. He unifies the work's dual comic and serious character by seeing even the religious part as a kind of comic device: "It is hardly too strong to say that the whole idea of intervening gods and a waiting afterworld is Apuleius' chief comic device, for it is the highest "diversion" he knows from the evil surrounding man on earth." 60 Thus, Apuleius' belief in a divine refuge and an escape after death provides a perspective from which he can ultimately view the evil and misery in the world as comedy. Another critic, William Nethercut, argues for the work's unity on the basis of his analysis of the novel's journey motif.61 He sees Lucius' journey as continuous, and, although it has clearly demarcated stages, he believes it is a unifying aspect of the work. Further, allusions throughout the Metamorphoses to the relationship between Cupid and Venus serve to unify it. He also believes that references to hair in different passages constitute a significant unifying theme. Gail Cooper attributes the competing modes of comedy and seriousness to the peculiar way Apuleius characterizes the epic search of the hero. For her, the Metamorphoses portrays this search as a "process of bumbling, rather than swashbuckling, one's way through the real world."62 She finds Joseph Campbell's study of the myth of the hero a useful way to grasp certain aspects of Lucius' adventures. For his part, Tomas Haggs emphasizes the novel's unity by minimizing the uncxpcctedness of Apuleius' shift from the wild stories in Books I-10 to the serious religious intent of the final book.63 He points to premonitions hidden in the first ten books which prepare us for the striking conversion experience of Book 11. He views the beautiful masterpiece of the first ten books, the myth of Eros and Psyche, as signalling that a serious message underlies the comic tales.64 The story of Lucius being transformed into an ass, Haggs says, would have prefigured to worshippers of Isis a possible future conversion to her, since the ass is associated with Seth-Typhon, the power of evil in the Isis and Osiris myth. Haggs considers Apuleius to convey a message of salvation from human bondage within an amusing package.65 Brendon Kenny also underscores the connectedness of the whole novel by viewing Lucius' adventures as an ass as the primary alternative to a life unified and made meaningful in religious conversion: "The preceding books represent the world which he has escaped from a world which has little discernible order or meaning in it, but in which all are forced to live unless delivered from it by conversion to the religion of Isis."66 In this view, the sharp contrast between Books 1-10 and Book 11 effectively highlights the overarching message of the Metamorphoses, namely, the difference religious meaning makes in one's experience of life.


Metamorphoses

25

P. Scazzoso and Rheinhold Merkelbach both strive to demonstrate that the Metamorphoses is a unified and serious religious work, but in different ways. Scazzoso traces through the novel elements which indicate it is ultimately a story of religious initiation,67 while Merkelbach argues that the Metamorphoses is one of many Greek romances which are actually disguised Mysterientexte,68 He points out the many parallels between elements in the novel and aspects of liturgy and ritual found in other texts, inscriptions and art of the ancient world. In particular, he focuses on the Eros and Psyche myth as a course of initiation (in transposed form) which enacts a cult myth. Nancy Shumate has argued convincingly that the novel offers a typical account of the process of conversion, and that the broad religious theme of the pursuit of false values provides an answer to the question of the work's unity. This theme provides the key to the inveterate question of the novel's unity as well: the false values of the old life are finally set right in Book 11, replaced by divine truth; Lucius' experiences before conversion are like the negative of a photograph, which is only fully developed, so to speak, in the final book. The unity of the work lies in the inverse relationship between the ρ re-con version and post-conversion books. 69

Her analysis of the unifying religious theme differs from those of other interpreters who have focused principally on specific lsiac elements in the novel and particularly on the religious aspects of Book 1 1. For Shumate, the pursuit of false values and the discovery of true value in the divine makes the entire work a fundamentally religious novel

The Eros and Psyche Myth as Unifying the Novel At the heart of the Metamorphoses stands one of the most beautiful of all myths, the story of Eros and Psyche. It comprises about one quarter of the entire Metamorphoses, where it makes its first appearance in literature. There is much debate, however, about how Apuleius' version of the tale relates to (1) pre-existing figures of Eros and Psyche depicted by various artists, (2) variants of a current folk tale or (3) other versions of the myth which may have been set forth in now-lost literature.70 Those who have argued for the unity and seriousness of the Metamorphoses have often done so on the basis of the parallels between the Eros and Psyche myth and the story of Lucius. We have already seen that the curiosity motif is an important link between Psyche and Lucius, and something more should be said here. Frances Norwood sees curiosity as the factor which brings both Psyche and

26


Metamorphoses

Lucius to grief, and the Psyche tale as a portrait of "Lucius in Fairyland."71 John Griffiths contends that Psyche's trials foreshadow Lucius' own struggles and her tasks symbolically describe aspects of his initiation into the cult of Isis.72 For Ronald Brown the curiosity of both Psyche and Lucius are essentially the same in that both seek transcendence of human limitations.73 He argues that the warning against "sacrilegious curiosity" applies as much to Lucius as to Psyche, since both tried to enter the realm of the holy through their own initiative. For Brown, this parallel points to the novel's fundamentally religious significance. The religious implications of the parallel between Psyche and Lucius are drawn out by other commentators. Richard Hooper, for instance, asserts "the tale of Cupid and Psyche is not an allegory about love or a stylish myth inserted for relief from the bandits' cave: it is a miniature version of the whole novel, and a careful foreshadowing of its religious significance."74 According to Hooper, Psyche's first three tasks are actually initiations which anticipate those that Lucius must undergo in preparation for his membership in the lsiac cult. Psyche's journey to the underworld, then, is foreshadowing Lucius' descent into hell that is part of this initiation. Some aspects of the Psyche myth, in Hooper's view, would not make sense without reference to the frame narrative about Lucius. For Carl Schlam, the link between Psyche and Lucius highlights the religious meaning of the Eros and Psyche myth. While agreeing with Merkelbach that some symbolic aspects of the initiation rites of the Isis cult can be found in this myth, Schlam has reservations about Merkelbach's attempt to trace these connections. Like other commentators, Schlam regards the curiosity theme as a significant link between Psyche and Lucius. But, beyond this, he views Psyche's wanderings in search of Eros as akin to Lucius' wanderings as an ass, and Psyche's redemption by divine powers as parallel to Lucius' redemption through Isis. Can we discern a trend in this voluminous literature? We might take Sehl am's view as an accurate assessment of the current trend of scholarship: "The long-standing divergence between those who emphasize the unity and seriousness of the Metamorphoses and those who regard it as miscellaneous and simply amusing has continued to the present time, although the number of scholars exploring the former view has become preponderant."75

¥antage Point of This Study This present study is a further exploration of the seriousness of the novel, but recognizes that this position has its own limitations. In one of the most intriguing recent studies of the Metamorphoses, John Winkler lays bare these


Metamorphoses

27

limitations. He highlights the novel's narcological complexity and undercuts both those interpretations which see the novel as frivolous and incoherent and those which see in it a clear purpose and serious intent. His views provide a theoretical context for my own perspective. Winkler points out how previous interpretations arrive at the novel's "true" meaning by comparing it with a "master text, a document or writing that is given privileged status in the decoding of the AA [Metamorphoses]"10 In each case, says Winkler, a key is needed to make sense out of the work's ambiguities. For example, the serious religious reading gives privileged status to Book 11 as the key to reinterpreting Books 1-10, which on first reading appear to be merely comic entertainment, but in light of it now can be seen to prefigure the religious conversion of Book 11. Winkler argues that each interpretive approach assumes that the Metamorphoses is incomplete and problematic as it stands. He selects as his own "master text" or key those parts of it which "are models (whether serious or ironic) for the process of reading, of interpreting a scene or tale: 777 Winkler admits that his own choice is inevitably arbitrary but trusts that those who follow his "experiment" will see its merits. His creative research results in the view that the Metamorphoses is a philosophical comedy about religious knowledge: The effect of its hermeneutic playfulness, including the final book, is to raise the question whether there is a higher order that can integrate conflicting individual judgments. I further argue that the effect of the novel and the intent of Apuleius is to put that question but not to suggest an answer.... The implicit argument of the novel is that belief in Isis or in any integrating cosmic hypothesis is a radically individual act that cannot be shared. We can watch Lucius make a leap of faith but we cannot find the ground to stand on (in the novel) that would enable us to leap with him.78

Thus Winkler concludes that Apuleius describes fundamental alternatives about the meaning of life and faith in Isis but does not himself recommend that leap. This conclusion about Apuleius' "limited scepticism"79 separates Winkler's interpretation from those which see Apuleius as advocating a particular religious or philosophical viewpoint. Winkler is correct to insist that the integration of the Metamorphoses requires the reader's decision to supply the missing key that authorizes attention to some features of the text and dismisses others. This, in essence, is the inherent limitation in any interpretation of the work, including the present one. The reader's own experience and judgment are crucial to the meaning of the story. This approach to understanding the Metamorphoses certainly holds true for the main concern of the present study, namely, appreciating the

28


Metamorphoses

importance of the dreamworld in the Metamorphoses. Readers actively involved in working with their own dreams, in whatever context, are more likely to comprehend the power and role of the dreamworld in Apuleius' novel. For us, then, the magical world of the unconscious psyche provides the key to integrating the diverse, complex material of the Metamorphoses.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8

For a brief summary of the story, see the Foreword. A. Kessels, Studies on the Dream in Greek Literature, p. 158. Ibid.. p. 2. B. Tedlock, "Dreaming and Dream Research," in Dreaming: Anthropological and Psychological Interpretations, pp. 1-30. B. Tedlock, 'On Classifying Dreams," in ibid., p. 173. Dream incubation in the ancient world was the practice of going to a dream temple to sleep so that the gods would come in dreams to cure an illness or to help with some problem. S. Freud, Delusions and Dreams in Jensen 's Gradiva, in SE, vol. 9, p. 7. Ibid., p. 8.

9 Ibid., p. 43. 10 Devereux means by the "dreamlike character" of literary dreams that there is evidence of the unconscious dynamics Freud described in dreams—factors such as unconscious wishes, censorship, symbolization, condensation of images and displacement of emotional tone. 11 G. Devereux, Dreams in Greek Tragedy: An Ethno-Psychoanalytical Study, pp. xxv-xxvi. 12 K. Bulkeley, Spiritual Dreaming: Λ Cross-Cultural and Historical Journey, p. 41. 13 Ibid., pp. 205-206. 14 Ibid., p. 204. 14 Ibid., pp. 203-204. 16 E. Haight. Apuleius and His Influence, p. 24. 17 The Isis Book, Metamorphoses I I , translated by J. Griffiths, p. 10. 18 Apuleius, Apologia, chapter 55. 19 The Isis Bookf p. 6. 20 R. Van der Paardt, 'The Unmasked T : Apuleius' Metamorphoses XL27," Mnemosyne 34 (1981): 97. 21 This crucial passage is introduced by a precognitive dream sequence involving Lucius and a priest of Osiris. This might suggest the dreamworld offers clues to deeper levels of personal identity. 22 Van der Paardt, "The Unmasked T : Apuleius1 Metamorphoses XI,27," p. 97. 23 A. Wlosok, "Zur Einheit der Metamorphosen des Apuleius," Philologus 113 (1969): 68-84. 24 K. Alpers, "Innere Beziehungen und Kontraste als 'Hermeneutische Zeichen' in den Metamorphosen des Apuleius von Madaura," WJA 6 (1980): 206. 25 W. Smith, "The Narrative Voice in Apuleius' Metamorphoses," ΤΑΡΑ 103 (1972): 534.

Literary Dreams and the Nature of the Metamorphoses 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 36

37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

29

Haight, Apuleius and His Influence, p. 49. Ibid., p. 49. P. Grimai, "L'originalité des Métamorphoses d'Apulée," IL 9 (1957): 156. C. Wright, "No Art at All: A Note on the Proemi um of Apuleius' Metamorphoses;' Classical Philology 68 (1973): 217-19. G. Ginsburg, "Rhetoric and Representation in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," Arethusa 10 (1977): 49-61. D. Robertson, "Lucius of Madaura: A Difficulty in Apuleius," Classical Quarterly 4 (1910): 221-27. J. Winkler, Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius ' Golden Ass, p. 128. For a more complete and detailed analysis of this literature see C. Schlam's "Scholarship on Apuleius since 1938," Classical World 64 (1971): 285-309. For a recent characterization of interpretations see Winkler, Auctor and Actor, pp. 4-8. A. Scobie, Aspects of the Ancient Romance and Its Heritage: Essays on Apuleius, Petronius and the Greek Romances, pp. 30-31. R. Van der Paardt, Apuleius Madaurensis: The Metamorphoses III, p. 7. B. Perry, "Some Aspects of the Literary Art of Apuleius in the Metamorphoses " TAPA 54 (1923): 196. P. Walsh has set forth concisely the current view on this matter: "[A]n unknown Greek writer composed an abridged version of a Greek short story. He called this epitome Lucius or the Λ55; it appears among the works of Lucian, and has achieved fame chiefly because its central theme is identical with that of The Golden Ass of Apuleius. The two works are thought to descend independently of each other from a lost romance, a Greek Metamorphoses; but whereas Lucius or the Ass is an abridgement somewhat shorter than the original, Apuleius has greatly expanded the tale with the insertion of several new episodes and anecdotes, of which the most important are the tale of Cupid and Psyche on the one hand and a wholly remodelled climax on the other" ("The Rights and Wrongs of Curiosity [Plutarch to Augustine]," G&R 35 [1988]: 74). Perry, "Some Aspects of the Literary Art of Apuleius in the Metamorphoses p. 202. Ibid., p. 208. B. Perry, "An Interpretation of Apuleius' Metamorphoses Γ ΤΑΡΑ 57 (1926): 242. Similarly, Ε. Burck has argued that the novel's many comic and satiric elements undercut the likelihood of taking seriously the religious conversion in Book 11. See "Zum Verständnis des Werkes," in Metamorphosen oder Der goldene Esel, nach der Übersetzung von A. Rode bearbeitet und kommentiert, pp. 256-309. A. Lesky, "Apuleius von Madaura und Lukios von Patrai," Hermes 76 (1941): 43-74. C. Rubino, "Literary Intelligibility in Apuleius' MetamorphosesClassical Bulletin 42 (1966): 65-69. F. Norwood, "The Magic Pilgrimage of Apuleius," Phoenix 10 (1956): 1-12. Grimai, "L'originalité des Métamorphoses d'Apulée," p. 161. Ε. Haight, Essays on the Greek Romance, p. 192. C. Schlam, "Platonica in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," TAPA 101 (1970): 477-87. Ibid., p. 479. R. Mortley, "Apuleius and Platonic Theology," AJP 93 (1972): 590.

30


Metamorphoses

49 P. Walsh, The Roman Novel: The Satyr icon of Petronius and the Metamorphoses of Apuleius, p. 182. 50 P. Walsh, "Apuleius and Plutarch," in Neoplatonism and Early Christian Thought: Essays in Honour of Α. H. Armstrong, p. 21. 51 Walsh, The Roman NoveL p. 143. 52 P. Walsh, "Lucius Madaurensis" Phoenix 26 (1968): 143-57. 53 J. DeFilippo, "Curiositas and the Platonism of Apuleius' Golden Ajj," AJP 111 (1990): 492. 54 Walsh, "The Rights and Wrongs of Curiosity (Plutarch to Augustine)" p. 75. 55 H. Mette. "Curiositas," in Festschrift Bruno Snell, pp. 227-35. 56 A. Labhardt, "Curiositas—notes sur l'histoire d'un mot et d'une notion " Museum Helveticum 17 (1960): 206-24. 57 H. Ruediger, "Curiositas und Magie: Apuleius und Lucius als literarische Archetypen der Faust-Gestalt," in Wort und Text: Festschrift für Fritz Schalk, pp. 57-82. 58 G. Sandy, "Knowledge and Curiosity in Apuleius' Metamorphose s Γ Latomus 31 (1972): 179-83. 59 Ν. Shumate, "The Augustinian Pursuit of False Values as a Conversion Motif in Apuleius' Metamorphoses " Phoenix 42 (1988): 53. 60 W. Stephenson, "The Comedy of Evil in Apuleius," Arion 3 (1964): 90. 61 W. Nethercut, "Apuleius' Metamorphoses—The Journey," Agon 3 (1969): 97-134. 62 G. Cooper, "Sexual and Ethical Reversal in Apuleius: The Metamorphoses as Anti-Epic " Latomus Collection 168 (1980): 436. 63 T. Haggs, The Novel in Antiquity. 64 Ibid., p. 182. 65 Ibid. 66 B. Kenny, "The Reader's Role in the Golden Ass," Arethusa 6-7 (1973-74): 199. 67 P. Scazzoso, Le Mel amorlas i di Apuleio: Studio crïîlt ο su I significato del romanzo. 68 R. Merkelbach, "Inhalt und Form in symbolischen Erzählungen der Antike," Eranos Jahrbuch 35 (1966): 145-75. 69 Shumate, "The Augustinian Pursuit of False Values as a Conversion Motif in Apuleius' Metamorphoses Γ p. 58. 70 For a thorough discussion, see my "Origins and Nature of the Eros and Psyche Story," in Love and the Soul: Psychological Interpretations of the Eros and Psyche Myth, pp. 5-13. 71 Norwood, "The Magic Pilgrimage of Apuleius," p. 8. 72 J. Griffiths, "Isis in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius," in AA, p. 149. 73 R. Brown, "The Tales in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius—A Study in Religious Consciousness" (Ph.D. diss., Florida State University, 1977), p. 101. 74 R. Hooper, "Structural Unity in The Golden Ass," Latomus 44 (1985): 399. 75 Schlam, "Scholarship on Apuleius since 1938," p. 293. 76 Winkler, Auctor and Actor, p. 7. 77 Ibid., p. 13. 78 Ibid., p. 124. 79 Ibid.

Chapter 3

Dream Interpretation in the Second Century

Almost the greater part of humankind get their knowledge of God from dreams. — Tertullian

F

rom the emperor's throne to the physician's office to the temple precinct, dreams guided people's lives in the ancient world. The value of dreams was almost universally acknowledged in the Greco-Roman world, and the importance of dreams and their interpretation in the second century cannot be overestimated. Emma and Ludwig Edelstein summarize the extent to which the strata of that society accepted the idea that dreams were a powerful reality which could heal the sick and give human beings a share in divine wisdom: Nobility and plebs, townsfolk and farmers believed in such revelations. Philosophers and scientists admitted that dreams were sent by the gods. Only Epicureans and the adherents of the New Academy objected to such a belief, but even they did not necessarily reject the prophetic and revealing character of dreams.1

Even the Roman Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, testifies to the power of dreams to heal the body and guide the dreamer, stating in The Communings with Himself that dreams gave him antidotes for physical conditions such as vertigo and spitting blood.2 While reflecting on people who oppose or hate him, he reminds himself that the gods also guide them, particularly through dreams: "The gods lend them aid in diverse ways by dream and oracles, to win those very things on which their hearts are set." 3 The emperor manifests the same attitude toward dreams that characterizes others from all walks of life, namely, reverence for the gods who in dreams heal, communicate prescriptions and provide counsel.4 Such beliefs about divine-human communication did not contradict established scientific or philosophical assumptions

Notes to Chapter 3 are on pp. 49-51.

31

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of that time. Even an important medical scientist such as Galen recognized that the gods communicate knowledge through dreams. Although dreams were honoured to an extraordinary degree, agreement was often lacking as to what aspects of reality dreams illustrated and how they should be interpreted. As we shall see, many dimensions of dreams were appreciated, including the somatic, the psychological, the prophetic (precognitive) and the divine. We must start with the practice of dream incubation which had spread throughout the ancient world by the second century CE.

Dream Incubation In its original sense, 4'dream incubation" refers to the practice of going to a holy place to receive a dream in answer to a problem or illness. This practice was seemingly almost universal in the ancient world, as hundreds of "dream temples" were active throughout Greece and the Roman Empire.5 The Greeks developed dream incubation to a high degree and dedicated many temples to Asclepius, the god of medicine. Later, in the Christian era old medical incubation dreams in the shrine of Asclepius were replaced by new incubation dreams at the shrine of a martyr or saint, and pagan dreams were replaced by dreams of Christian religious content.6 In the ancient practice of dream incubation, people would come to the dream temples to pray and sleep in order to be healed by the god himself (i.e., Asclepius) or to receive instruction about which medicine to administer or what action to take in order to be healed. The lights of the sleeping room were extinguished just before Asclepius was expected to make his appearance. According to the testimonies of those healed, the incubant would see the god in a dream during sleep or else in a vi si on like experience in a state between sleep and waking.7 Asclepius appeared in dreams in several typical forms—as a man or a boy, or as a serpent or dog. In the testimonies the god is often described as a bearded man with a gentle and calm face. In some cases he is said to have a sense of humour and to laugh. Asclepius, or his serpent or dog, touched the ailing part of the dreamer's body and then disappeared. Some testimonies even describe Asclepius removing the sickness with a divine kiss.8 Other inscriptions from the dream incubation temples describe the god performing surgery on the patient. The following inscriptions from the temple at Epidauros reveal the kind of operations Asclepius might perform. A man with a stomach ulcer. He slept there and had a dream. He dreamt the god ordered the slaves he had brought with him to seize him and hold him tight so he might cut his abdomen: he tried to get away but they grabbed him and tied


33

him to the operation table; then Asclepius cut open his abdomen, excised the ulcer, stitched him up again, and ordered him untied. After that he emerged healthy, and the floor in the adytum was full of blood. A man of Torone with leechcs. In his sleep here he had a dream. He dreamt that the god cut open his chest with a knife, took out the leeches, placed them in his hands, and stitched up his chest. When day came he emerged holding the worms in his hands, and he became well. 9

These testimonies indicate another aspect of the ancient dream world, namely, that elements of the dream are sometimes found near the dreamer upon awakening. These tokens of the dream world are sometimes called "apports." 10 Two further examples from the inscriptions highlight this strange phenomenon: Euhippos carried about a spear point in his jaw for six years. While he was sleeping here the god extracted the spear point and placed it in his hands. When day came he walked out of here healthy, holding the spear point in his hands. Gorgias of Herakleia. with pus. His lung pierced by an arrow in a battle, he suppurated so profusely for a year and six months that he filled sixty-seven basins with pus. Then he slept here and saw a vision: he dreamt the god removed the point from his lung. When day came he emerged healthy, holding the arrow point in his hand. 11

Such dream tokens testify to the reality of the dream experience and the continuity between dreams and waking life. Not only do the healings effected by Asclepius in dreams carry over into the waking world, but some of the particular dream elements also appear there. While this belief falls short of the view of some societies which maintain that dreams have a greater reality than waking life, it does place the two realities on an equal footing and affirms the interaction between them. In Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, C. Meier describes four phases of the incubation rite used by the sick in search of healing: (1) The patient would take a cleansing bath to purify the soul as well as the body; (2) s/he would make preliminary sacrifices to the god, Asclepius; (3) the sick person would sleep on a couch, called a kline, in the Greek temples; and (4) the god would appear in a dream to heal the patient. In the earliest practice only the first night in the temple was decisive. It was believed that in the first incubated dream Asclepius himself would appear and immediately cure the patient. The testimonies also suggest that the procedure, especially from Hellenistic times on, was one where the god does not heal the patient directly but rather advises a treatment to be followed. Moreover, Asclepius' advice was

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Metamorphoses

usually clear and direct, with no need for a priest or professional interpreter to carry out the treatment revealed in the dream. The kind of treatments he recommended ranged widely from eating partridge with frankincense, applying ashes from the god's altar to the affected part, to swimming, bathing or various kinds of exercises.12 A curious feature of dream incubation was the phenomenon of the double dream, in which two people had the same dream or at least part of the same dream. Meier highlights the importance of synchronicity (Jung's term for such meaningful coincidences) in the healing dreams of the incubation temples, noting that the incubants made detailed records of their dreams until they experienced a dream which coincided with the dreams of the temple priest. Meier even offers an example from his own practice in psychotherapy of the coincidence between the therapist's (priest's) dreams and the patient's. 13 Later we shall see how a dream coincidence was crucial in ending a four-month period of illness for Aristides. A curious instance of a double dream is recorded among the inscriptions on the columns of the dream incubation temple at Epidauros. It involves the double dream of a woman named Arata and her mother who went to the temple to dream for her. The inscription reads: Arata, a Spartan woman, a case of dropsy. She remained in Sparta and her mother slept here for her and had a dream. She dreamt the god cut off her daughter's head and hung her body with the neck down; then after a copious effusion he took down the body and put the head back on the neck. After having this dream she went back to Sparta and found that her daughter had the same dream and was now well. 14

This single inscription offers a dramatic example of a double dream, incubating a dream by proxy, and the kind of radical procedure Asclepius sometimes resorted to in healing dreams. Interestingly, the phenomenon of double dreams also appears in the dreamworld of the Metamorphoses, where Isis announces that she is present in two dreams at oncc. She informs Lucius in a dream that she is simultaneously present in the dream of the priest in order to inform him of his role in Lucius' transformation. In certain respects dream incubation in the ancient temples resembles the mystery religions. In both, a dream is often necessary to call a person to the holy place. Pausanias, the great travel guide of the second century, tells us that in certain incubation temples only those may enter who have been chosen by the gods and summoned by a vision in their sleep.15 Similarly, C. Meier states that in the dream incubation temples one had to be summoned to the healing mysteries of Asclepius in order for them to be effective. The summons may have come in the form of auguries during preliminary sacrifices,


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but, regardless of the method used, some kind of "call" was necessary.16 This resembles very closely the picture Apuleius presents of initiation into the cult of Isis,17 where it would be lethal for someone to approach the mysteries without being called. Birth symbolism is another important point of similarity between dream incubation rituals and the religious mysteries. In dream incubation, the incubant is reborn and healed after a journey to the underworld. This is analogous to Apuleius' description of the rebirth ritual in the mysteries of Isis. Meier argues that the healing involved in dream incubation would itself have been the mystery, in the same sense that Aristides called Asclepius' cures "mysteries." 18 The remarkable, widespread practice of dream incubation aptly symbolizes the character and importance of dream interpretation in the second century. Several authors from the second century CE bear witness to it as well, and to their accounts we will now turn.

Second-Century Authors Galen fca. 120-200 CE) Galen, the renowned physician known as the "Father of Experimental Physiology" and the most voluminous of all the ancient medical writers,19 was influenced throughout his life by dreams. Even his decision to study medicine ultimately came from dreams. When Galen was sixteen years old, his father had vivid dreams in which Asclepius told him to make his son a physician. Through this inspiration Galen began his medical studies at a school attached to Asclepius' shrine in Pergamum. In accordance with the medical perspective of the time, Galen considered most dreams to be physiological in nature, caused by excesses in food or drink that disturb the bodily humours.20 The four humours—black bile, phlegm, blood and yellow bile—were thought to govern physical well-being. The somatic dimension of dream interpretation is based on a theory of correspondence between microcosm (the body) and macrocosm (the world and nature), and followed Hippocrates' view that dreams express the condition of the body in terms of nature (such as weather, cycles of growth, the sun, moon and planets). Thus, a dream which reflects what normally happens in the world (macrocosm) would indicate that the dreamer's body (microcosm) is healthy. Conversely, dreams which show irregularities in nature or the planets would mean that there is a disorder in the corresponding body system. For example, in his essay, "Diagnosis from Dreams," concerning the way abnormal physical conditions are reflected in dreams, Galen writes,

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Metamorphoses

To see a fire in sleep means this condition is due to yellow bile, to see smoke or fog or profound darkness, black bile, to see a violent rain means it is due to an overabundance of cold humidity, to see snow and ice, an overabundance of cold phlegm. . . . We conclude that the wrestler who dreams that he is standing in a cistern of overabundance of blood requires blood-letting.21

Like Aristotle, Galen believed that in sleep the soul is cut off from most sensations of the external world and thus turns its attention to the condition of the body. For Galen, other physiological dreams are attributed to the soul's ability to imagine whatever it desires so that when the dreamer is thirsty, he or she will imagine drinking and, when hungry, eating to satisfy the hunger. This capacity to picture what one would normally do in response to a physical condition, combined with the occasional ability to sense conditions not yet discernible by a physician, often allows dreams to presage illnesses and diagnoses. While Galen did not believe he could completely explain the predictive character of certain dream diagnoses, he maintained that experience proves such remarkable dream phenomena to be true. In fact, Galen describes how, at the age of twenty-seven, he suffered from an abscess which was diagnosed in two of his dreams. The dreams led him to open an artery in his hand between the thumb and first finger and let it bleed until it stopped on its own.22 Galen reports that he successfully treated many people by applying remedies revealed in dreams. Galen's dreams guided him not only to sense physical conditions and diagnose illness, but also in other life matters. Asclepius appeared in a dream when Galen was thirty-eight and forbade him to go to war. About five years later, when working on his treatise on the anatomy and physiology of the eye, Galen had a disturbing dream which altered his approach to the subject. When he was tempted to pronounce his treatise as sufficiently complété, believing he could successfully omit an obscure point involving the theory of geometry, Galen had a dream in which he was censured for being unfair to the most godlike of body parts and insulting the Creator by not being as thorough as possible in explaining one of the great wonders of physical creation. In response to the dream, Galen returned to the treatise and added the difficult section. Overall, Galen seems to have been aware of a number of levels of dream interpretation, even though he focused mainly on the physiological meanings of dreams. George Sarton maintains that Galen elaborated Hippocrates' earlier classification which had recognized two kinds of dreams, namely, natural and divine.23 For Hippocrates the divine category included prophetic dreams, which foretell events for individuals and even entire cities. Galen refined Hippocrates' categories by recognizing two subvarieties within the natural cate-


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gory: (1) those due to physical causes, such as digestion and sex, and (2) those stemming from a person's concerns and preoccupations. Even though Galen attempted to interpret most dreams according to his physiological doctrine, he did not rule out the possibility of a divine dimension as well.

Tertullian fca. 155-220 CE) Tertullian, the first great Latin apologist of Christianity, is usually considered the major theologian in the West until Augustine. He had a great influence on Augustine, through whom his ideas became a central part of Christian theology, Tertullian was acquainted with the extensive dream literature of antiquity, and in an essay entitled "On the Soul" (De Anima) he formulated a cogent statement of his understanding of dreams and their relation to the soul and God. Tertullian's perspective informed the thought of Western Christians for almost twelve hundred years.24 Tertullian believed that the continual presence of dreams during sleep shows that the soul is always active and in constant motion. He took this to be a sign of the soul's divinity and immortality. Even when the body is asleep dreams show that the soul still has great powers.25 Tertullian objected to the view that sleep represents the repose of the soul or that dreaming indicates the separation of the soul from the body during sleep. Rather he held that the mind's ecstatic experiences in dreams are a kind of madness, but one which we paradoxically remember. We still possess our mental faculties and, even though their powers may be diminished, they still leave us with enough capacity to remember our dreams.26 In the forty-sixth chapter of De Anima, Tertullian surveys the available literature on the importance of dreams and their interpretation. He classifies dreams according to their causes. The most frequent cause he identifies as demons, and most dreams of this origin he believes are untrue. The second cause is God, who sends dreams which are honest, prophetic, inspired and instructive. In regard to divine dreams, Tertullian held that the majority of humankind gets its knowledge of God from dreams. The third cause is nature, and the fourth is the peculiar conditions of the ecstatic dream state itself. This aspect of Tertullian's thought is roughly equivalent to the dynamics of the unconscious.27 Unlike Galen, Tertullian rejects the somatic interpretation of dreams. Dream interpretations based on the time of night, sleep position, conditions of the body, including pressure on the intestines and liver, fasting or eating certain foods, he dismisses as "ingenious conjecture," even if Plato seriously considered such influences. Although he excluded somatic considerations, Tertullian was an astute observer of the dreamworld. He countered those who

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claimed that infants do not dream with the observation that their movements and facial expressions during sleep indicate that their souls are dreaming. He also maintained that everyone dreams, despite the insistence of many that certain individuals and even some entire nations did not dream. Here Tertullian anticipated the conclusions of twentieth-century sleep laboratory research, which has demonstrated that dreaming is a natural biological rhythm found in everyone. In the preface to another work, The Passion of the Holy Martyrs Perpetua and Felicitas, Tertullian stresses that God not only spoke to the ancients in dreams but continues to send visions and dreams to people of the present day. He locates dreams theologically as one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit which God promised to the church. He connects this view to the prophecy of Joel: "|Y]our young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams." And thus we both acknowledge and reverence, even as we do the prophecies, modern visions are equally promised to us, and consider the other powers of the Holy Spirit as an agency of the Church for which also He was sent, administering all gifts in all. 28

Tertullian obviously regards dreams, from the viewpoint of the Christian church, as an accepted way for God to communicate with human beings. If we link this idea to his view that most of humankind receives its knowledge of God from dreams, then the dream gifts given to Christians by the Holy Spirit are not of an entirely different nature than the dreams sent by God to the rest of humanity. Thus the Christian perspective on dreams in the second century appears consistent with the accepted view of the times, namely, that dreams function as a normal vehicle for communication between human beings and the divine.

Artemidorus (Late Second Century CE) Artemidorus' Oneirocriiica, possibly the most widely known dream book from the ancient world, has been called the "most important dream book from the entire Greek and Roman period/' 29 It furnishes most of the little information we have about its author. Artemidorus was well read and well travelled, collecting his materials from journeys in Greece, Italy and Asia Minor.30 He explains how he not only sought to procure every book on dream interpretation available, but also spent many years discussing this art with the diviners of the marketplace throughout the Roman Fvmpirc. In creating the Oneirocritica Artemidorus drew from a number of dream books lost in antiquity. His is a rational approach which focuses on the psychological meanings of dreams rather than on any influence of the divine on the


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human dreamworld. While his method of dream interpretation takes into account the relevance of particulars about the dreamer and the dreamer's life situation, Artemidorus differs from his ancient Near Eastern counterparts in not emphasizing the dreamer's important social, political or religious position.31 Artemidorus' approach differs strikingly from that of Tertullian and Aristides, in that he had little interest in "messenger" dreams, in which the gods would communicate something of personal, social or religious importance to the dreamer. His lack of interest in divine dreams makes sense, since many of these dreams did not require the services of an interpreter—and Artemidorus was a dream interpreter by profession! He does speak of dreams as "god-sent" but explains that he uses this terminology in a general way, just as people commonly call unexpected events "god-sent." He purposely avoids the question of the ultimate origin of dreams, preferring not to speculate whether they come from the soul or from the gods.32 The other category of dreams which Artemidorus largely ignores is the physical or diagnostic dream. Here he differs from Galen and the medical perspective on the meaning and value of dreams. Yet Artemidorus does recognize that dreams can be influenced by bodily needs and psychologically significant events. He even advises dream interpreters to acquire as much medical knowledge as possible for understanding dreams involving illness, and states that the medical remedies offered in dreams do not contradict medical science. Again, the main reason he does not deal extensively with diagnostic dreams is that they are generally straightforward and do not require the aid of an interpreter.33 In the first book of the Oneirocritica Artemidorus makes a key distinction for his theory, namely, the difference between oneiros and enhypnion. Oneiros he defines as a dream referring to something which will occur in the future, while enhypnion is a dream reflecting present conditions. Examples of enhypnion include a lover dreaming of the beloved, a frightened person dreaming of the feared object or event or a hungry or thirsty person dreaming of eating or drinking. Artemidorus recognizes how dreams incorporate and comment on current conditions of both mind and body. Not only does he believe that dreams may deal with the body and mind's current state, but his observation that dreams often portray one's fears and hopes is consistent with the findings of modern dream interpreters. It is not surprising that Freud regarded Artemidorus highly since he, too, recognized the importance of the day's residue and the impact of wishes on dreams.34 The other type of dream, oneiros, foretells future events. Adhering to this category places Artemidorus squarely in the ancient tradition represented by Homer, who describes dreams as passing through either the Gates of Ivory

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(false predictions) or the Gates of Horn (true predictions). In the Odyssey, the wise Penelope describes the difference between these two kinds of dreams: Stranger, verily dreams are hard, and hard to be discerned; nor are all things therein fulfilled for men. Twain are the gates of shadowy dreams, the one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Such dreams as pass through the portals of sawn ivory are deceitful, and bear tidings that are unfulfilled. But the dreams that come forth through the gates of polished horn bring a true issue, whosoever of mortals beholds them. 35

The distinction recognizes a remarkable phenomenon which has attracted people's interest to dreams probably for as long as human beings have been dreaming: precognition. While psychoanalysts and psychotherapists employing dreams in our "psychological age" generally look for residues of the past in dreams to determine their meaning, the ancients emphasized the future reference of dreams— their ability to intimate coming events or sense future conditions of both the body and the spirit. Even Plato systematized the arguments supporting the classification of predictive and non-predictive dreams.36 To emphasize the importance of precognition in dream interpretation, Artemidorus mentions that he was late in finishing the Oneirocritica because he was trying to gather only those dreams which came true.37 As a subset of precognitive dreams, he differentiates between " theorcmatic " dreams, which predict future events exactly as they will happen, and 44allegorical" dreams, which represent the future in symbols requiring interpretation to discern their meaning.38 Theorcmatic dreams come true immediately, while allegorical dreams take some time (from a day to much longer) before what is predicted occurs.39 Artemidorus merely mentions, without providing a detailed explanation, a further division of theorematic dreams: those which present future events in images, and those in which a god or some other person appears and announces a future event. He rejects the ancient idea that dreams after midnight and especially at dawn are true or more certain than those before midnight.40 In discussing dream interpretation, Artemidorus stresses that he is practising an empirical science based on long experience and detailed observation.41 His method attends closely to the innumerable details making up the context of the dreamer's situation, such as profession, personal habits, attitudes, marital and financial status, health, age and homeland customs.42 Artemidorus describes numerous situations in which ethnic customs have a bearing on the meaning of dreams. Here he moves away from the idea of fixed and universal symbols operating in dreams and prefigures the more modern approach, which recognizes the importance of the dreamer's associations to each dream symbol for uncovering its unique meaning.


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The kind of particularity guiding Artemidorus' interpretation of dream symbols is seen in his many examples which illustrate a single dream's various possible meanings. One involves a dream in which the dreamer is being bom. Artemidorus explores several meanings of birth symbolism according to whether the dreamer is rich or poor, a craftsman or an athlete, and a variety of other situations. He concludes that the dream bodes well for a poor person since it means someone will be there to care for and nourish him or her, as is true of a newborn infant. But, for a rich person, he says, the dream signifies being ruled by others and unable to govern one's own house, as is also true of an infant. For a craftsperson, the dream indicates unemployment since infants do not work, while for an athlete it means misfortune since infants cannot walk or run, and so on. Artemidorus does not explain why he chooses these particular applications of birth symbolism according to the circumstances of the dreamer, so we are left to wonder about the specific operation of his interpretive procedure. Nevertheless, his alertness to the dreamer's unique personal context for accurate interpretation is noteworthy. Artemidorus' attention to context shines forth in his insistence on considering the dream as a whole and placing individual symbols in the context of that whole. In fact he regards dreams which are not remembered in their entirety as of doubtful value for interpretation. This attempt to locate individual symbols in the dream context helps him overcome the simplistic one-toone substitution of meaning for symbol which is the basis of many dream books or symbol dictionaries even in our own day.43 Artemidorus explicitly urges dream interpreters to call upon their own experience and common sense for understanding dreams rather than relying on set symbols found in dream books to do their work for them.

Aristides (ca. 117-89 CE) One of the most remarkable dream records from antiquity is provided by Aelius Aristides. His work, known to English readers as the Sacred Tales (C. Behr) or Sacred Discourses (A. Festugière),44 has been described as the "earliest continuous dream diary known to Western civilization"45 and "the first and only religious autobiography which the pagan world has left us." 46 It describes Aristides1 night-by-night interaction with the god of healing, Asclepius. Although some of the materials were lost, Aristides preserved five books. These dream journals, filled with over two hundred dreams, are a primary source for understanding dreams in the ancient world. That Aristides' Sacred Tales is a primary source both to his own dreamlife and to dreams in the second century in general poses some problems. His account was written long after Aristides experienced the dreams

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he describes—something which casts doubt on its reliability and accuracy. Not all the dream records themselves were available when he composed the book.47 as some were lost and others not dated.48 How could Aristides have captured such detail when all that was available to jog his memory were fragments of diary entries? Along with C. Behr, G. Bjorck reminds us that the ancients placed more value on their dream experience than we do and therefore may have had greater capacity to remember their dreams than we do today.49 For our purposes, Aristides' Sacred Tales remain an invaluable, unparalleled source to the dreamworld of the second century CE. Aside from his contribution to the literature of dreams, Aristides was not a major figure of the second century. He grew up in a wealthy family in Asia Minor, was well read and travelled widely. As an orator he went from city to city reading a variety of speeches praising cities, sanctuaries or the gods.50 But just as a promising career in public affairs appeared on the horizon, Aristides was plagued with a series of maladies. For at least twelve years, he suffered from a seemingly endless stream of illnesses, ranging from chronic headaches, asthma, hypertension, insomnia, deafness and shortness of breath to gastric disorders, intestinal pain and tumours. The story of illnesses which led Aristides to the god Asclepius began on a trip to Rome in December 143 CE. Around this time, he began to suffer from various problems such as toothaches, earaches, fever and asthma attacks. He became so ill that he was finally forced to rest at Edessa. He finally reached Rome around March 144 CE, but was still suffering greatly. In his distress, he tried the medical remedies available, but all of them failed and to the local doctors he seemed incurable. Feeling hopeless, Aristides returned to Smyrna and, after a time of suffering there, the doctors could provide neither satisfactory diagnosis nor treatment. His main physical ailments seemed to be fever and asthma.51 It was about December 144 CE when Asclepius first appeared to Aristides in a dream and ordered him to walk barefoot. In the course of the dream itself Aristides carried out this order while he proclaimed the greatness of Asclepius. The god also commanded him to record his dream encounters, to dedicate his dream journal to Asclepius52 and to share his dream experience with others. Thus began Aristides' relationship with Asclepius, which became the virtual focal point for meaning in his life. Aristides travelled to Asclepius' various sacred temples in order to incubate dreams in which the god(s) would appear to him and counsel him on treating his illnesses. Even when he was not in the temple, he would frequently dream of being there and of receiving an appropriate medicine or instructions on eating, fasting or bathing. For example, during a two-week period in Januar)' 166 CE,


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he had five dreams in which he was in either the tempie of Apollo or the temple of Asclepius. In one Aristides sees, in the vestibule of the temple of Asclepius at Smyrna, a statue of himself changing into a statue of Asclepius. This juxtaposition of images, which Freud regarded as a product of the dreamwork mechanism of condensation, shows the close identification of Aristides with the god who came to guide so many of his decisions and actions. In another dream during this period Aristides finds himself in the Temple of Apollo at Mount Milyas. He hears someone speak about a medicine which he interprets as a fitting drug for a cold, and he tells the priest that there is no need to eat. Upon waking he interprets this as a recommendation to fast and decides to fast the next day. This straightforward kind of directive in his dreams—and Aristides' commitment to acting upon such messages—is a striking and characteristic aspect of his appreciation of dreams and the practice of dream incubation. Aristides also provides an instance of dreaming by proxy. In September 147 CE, while suffering from stomach and chest troubles, Aristides travelled to Lebedus. A famous doctor, Satyrus, gave him a drug for his ailments and in the course of treatment Aristides developed a severe chest cold and cough. Aristides decided to consult Asclepius about his illness and general constitutional weakness. But Aristides was not well enough to make the journey himself, so he decided to send his foster father Zosimus to the temple at Colophon to get the god's advice. Zosimus obliged and in the temple received an oracle informing him that Asclepius would treat Aristides' disease and heal him. On the same night Aristides himself dreamed that he saw statues of the gods on which were engraved inscriptions commemorating an individual who had been saved from death and had consequently given sacrifices to the gods. He interpreted the dream as referring to his own situation and believed that the inscriptions anticipated his own recovery. As a result of this dream, and out of gratitude for the benefits that the god bestowed upon him, he inaugurated sacrifices to Asclepius and soon was well again. A dramatic example of Aristides' dreams guiding the treatment of his illness occurred during a four-month period from October 147 CE to January 148 CE. A tumour or boil began to grow in his groin and soon became so enlarged that the entire area was severely swollen.53 After Aristides had endured agonizing pain and fever for a few days, his doctors insisted on surgery or cauterization and warned him that if he did not follow their advice, he would die from the resulting infection. Contrary to these dire warnings, Asclepius told Aristides in a dream not to follow the doctors' advice but to endure the growth. Although under considerable pressure from his doctors and friends, Aristides concluded that "there was no choice between listening to the doctors or to the god." 54

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A remarkable dream coincidence finally brought this siege to a close. On the same night that Asclepius appeared to Aristides in a dream to reveal that a drug would combat the swelling, the god also appeared in a dream of Zosimus, Aristides' foster father, and told him the same remedy. A further coincidence involving this same dream occurred when Aristides sent a messenger to Zosimus to tell him about his dream, and at the same time Zosimus himself came to Aristides to tell him of the remedies he received from the god in his own dream. When Aristides applied the suggested remedy to the affected area, he found that most of the swelling quickly receded. According to his report, at that point both his friends and his doctors ceased their sharp criticisms and were amazed at how Asclepius had intervened on his behalf. After a few more days, the swelling completely disappeared. In this example Asclepius ordered Aristides not to follow the usual médical practice. What is even more remarkable is that god ordered him to do several strange things as a part of the cure—including running barefoot in the winter, riding horseback while the inflamed growth was its worst and even getting seasick by sailing across a stormy harbour. In his "Egyptian Discourse" Aristides comments on the unorthodox medical advice given by Asclepius and the other gods who treated him in dreams: "For they (the saviour gods) have cured us through means which seem to be the very opposite of what you would expect and which one would especially avoid " 5 5 Regarding the painfulness characteristic of many of these paradoxical admonitions, E. Dodds views them as an apparent expression of an unconscious desire for self-punishment. He dismisses these "divine dreams" as a form of "age-old superstitions": "there is little to be said for a system which placed the patient at the mercy of his own unconscious impulses, disguised as divine monitions."56 A. Festugière offers a more balanced view of these paradoxical commands and their real value: "Since the imagination plays a large part what the patient needs most is the companionship of the god " 5 7 Festugière does not deny the psychological element in Aristides' illness and cure, but places the emphasis where it belongs, namely, on the central importance of the entire dream process in establishing and maintaining a relationship with the god. Granting that Aristides was "as much a confirmed neurotic as a famous rhetorician," C. Meier presents the most positive view of Aristides' reliance on Asclepius and his relationship to the god. Meier believes that Aristides avoided the danger of extreme vanity because he ascribed his personal successes to the divine.58 One final example shows the kind of paradoxical advice Asclepius sometimes gave. Aristides describes a divine manifestation in which the god appeared to be both himself and Apollo at the same time. Although it was


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winter, the god commanded him to follow a boy who would lead him to the river where he was to bathe. Friends and doctors followed them to the river to observe this unusual event. Aristides states that he was still warm from the vision of Asclepius as he tore off his clothes and leaped into the deepest part of the river. After swimming around a while he came out of the icy water and, by his account, felt no discomfort from the freezing temperature and the blustery north wind. Aristides reports that bystanders were astounded at what he had just done and shouted praises to Asclepius for preserving him through such an extreme regimen. He adds that, following his icy swim, he felt an exceptional warmth throughout his body and high spirits during the entire day. He also describes being in a kind of altered state of consciousness in which he could not focus on the world around him because his mind was filled with thoughts of Asclepius.59

The Divine Dimension of Dreams in Aristides and His Contemporaries The divine dimension is at the forefront in several dreams in Aristides' Sacred Tales. But one prominent critic, E. Dodds, renders a reductionist interpretation of the divine elements in these dreams.60 He criticizes the way Aristides interprets even very ordinary dreams as "divine," and questions the paradoxical and even seemingly cruel prescriptions Aristides receives from the god. Dodds even compares these commands of Asclepius to the penances of Isiac devotees and the self-inflicted torments of the Desert Fathers. He notes how the god began the relationship to Aristides mostly as a medical advisor and then gradually extended his influence to Aristides' entire life. Dodds regards this close relationship as a "curious symbiosis," and interprets the dream in which Aristides sees his own statue transform into one of Asclepius as symbolizing healing through "self-identification with the image of an ideal Father."61 This Freudian line of interpretation may help us understand some of the psychological dynamics involved in Aristides' relationship with Asclepius, at least from a psychoanalytic perspective, but it fails to do justice to Aristides' own understanding of this relationship. To understand Aristides' experience, consider a valuable distinction Dodds himself makes between the dream experience and the memory and interpretation of that experience. In The Greeks and the Irrational, Dodds wondered whether the difference between ancient and modern dreams might depend both on the character of the dream experience and on its interpretation, which is shaped by the cultural pattern of the society providing its context. By the time he wrote Pagan and Christian

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in an Age of Anxiety, he inclined more toward the view that the dream experience of ancient times was probably very similar to the experience of today, and that any differences should be attributed to the way the dream is remembered according to cultural expectations. Dodds is obviously drawing upon considerably different cultural assumptions as he struggles to make sense of Aristides' dreams and interpretations, and this may help explain his reductionistic attitude toward them. A more fruitful approach to understanding ancient dreamers and their dreams is to place greater emphasis on the dreamer's (Aristides') own interpretation of the dream and the cultural assumptions underlying his interpretation. A. Festugière makes a slightly different but related point regarding the remarkable consistency of Aristides' dreams in seeing Asclepius giving him orders night after night. He too grants that Aristides' dreams were likely much more diverse than implied by the accounts recorded in the Sacred Tales. Festugière argues that Aristides' faith in the god governed his interpretation of dreams rather than the other way around. Determining the line of causality here may not be as easy as Festugière implies, but his observations do call attention to the interconnection between one's faith or worldview and one's dreams. We cannot be certain that the faith comes first, since this conclusion may be a product of twentieth-century secular assumptions about the divine dimension of dreams. However, given the almost universal heritage of the world's religions that dreams are a principal vehicle of divine revelation, it is precarious to assert, without qualification, that one's faith and worldview might not be shaped by divine revelation in dreams. On balance, Festugière's emphasis on how personal faith and cultural assumptions influence dream interpretation bears directly on our discussion. Festugière points out that Aristides shared with nearly all his contemporaries a common belief in the healing power of Asclepius. This belief no doubt influenced Aristides' expectation that the god might rescue him when his doctors had given up on his case. What Festugière fails to emphasize, but which is equally important, is the common ancient belief that the divine communicates with humans through dreams. Festugière focuses primarily on the crisis of Aristides' illness as the key factor which converts him to personal religion. Crisis and illness are indeed often the occasion, or the precipitating cause of conversion to a more deeply held personal form of religion. However, it is also significant that dreams are the primary vehicle for personalizing the common faith of Aristides' time and culture. As we have seen, it is in the realm of dreams that Aristides meets the god Asclepius and in which his personal commitment to him occurs. Even as we acknowledge the powerful influence of cultural assumptions and an indi-


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vi dual's worldview on dreams, we must not imagine that dreams can offer nothing beyond the limits of an individual's and a culture's present horizons. Like Dodds, Festugière presents many examples where Aristides believes he is receiving advice from Asclepius though the god does not himself appear in the dream. Such cases show how far Aristides was willing to go in believing that even the most common dream was a message from the divine. Granted, faith and expectation clearly influence the dream's interpretation. But this does not deny the special character of those other, more powerful dreams where the god does appear and where the divine character of the dream may be less a matter of ingenious interpretation than of an overpowering dream experience. Certainly some of Aristides' dreams are of this latter type. Aristides himself underscores the importance and power of his union with the god Asclepius, a union which transforms the meaning of his life. For example, he describes a powerful dream vision in which Asclepius tells him that his mind is to be transformed by communion with the god and, as a result of this union, he will transcend the human state: "[Hie said that my mind was to be rapt from my present state of life; that when it was so rapt, I should be made one with God, and being made one with God, I should have transcended our mortal state."62 Here Aristides hints that immortality is an integral part of his union with Asclepius. Aristides' dreamlife brought him into relationship not only with Asclepius but also with the Egyptian god, Serapis. When Aristides was overwhelmed with grief over the death of his foster father, Zosimus, he had dreams of Serapis in which the gods of the underworld communicated to him that he should give up his deep grief for his dead friend. As C. Behr remarks, since the religion of Asclepius lacked a belief in an afterlife, Asclepius could not console Aristides in his mourning. Asclepius was the god of medicine and mainly concerned himself with saving people in this world.63 As such, he was unable to reveal the mysteries of the afterlife to Aristides and left Serapis to fulfill that role. As Behr suggests, Aristides was an eclectic polytheist in this regard—his religious beliefs were inconsistent and determined by momentary enthusiasm or external pressure. In another dream of the underworld Aristides saw terrifying images of the regions above and below the earth, and the power of the god Serapis to carry people to wherever he wishes. Aristides referred to this dream experience as a kind of "initiation," 64 a statement which appears to confirm the similarity of dream incubation to the mystery religions in both involving the revelation of a god or goddess.63 The powerful impression such experiences of divine revelation had on Aristides is evident when he describes another of his visions of Asclepius. Here he speaks of tears of joy at the ineffable experience of initiation in the

48


presence of the god. The emphasis on personal communion with the divine is the hallmark of Aristides' dream experience. Thus it is the divine dimension of his dreams that should be our focal point if we wish to understand Aristides' dream experience, rather than idiosyncrasies of his hypochondria or other personality quirks. As we have now seen, the divine dimension of dreams is prominent not only in Aristides but also in the scientist Galen, the apologist Tertullian and in the widespread practice of dream incubation throughout the ancient world. Even beyond the dream incubation temples, gods appearing in dreams were part of the larger cultural pattern of the period.66 In fact, Bouché-Leclercq states that almost all people in antiquity believed in divine revelation through dreams.67 Two of the most prevalent beliefs throughout the second-century Greco-Roman world, among all strata of society, were a belief in the presence of the divine in dreams, and a belief in a god as the author of dreams. These assumptions about dreams are crucial to the plot of the Metamorphoses. Just as the Homeric works conformed to the cultural expectations of that period and utilized message dreams, so Apuleius draws upon the cultural view of regular interconnections of gods and humans in creating the religious dreamworld of his novel.68 Even Artemidorus, who declined to discuss the ultimate origin of dreams, did not deny that some dreams may be sent by god and uses the term "god-sent" to indicate that dreams show unforeseen things. What is unmistakable in Artemidorus is the importance of predictive dreams, which have long been associated with the divine.69 He recognizes that one main form of "theorematic" dreams is the dream oracle, in which the divine (or some person) appears and foretells a future event. Artemidorus' summary of the categories of predictive dreams, as we have discussed, shows how deeply ingrained dream precognition was in the society of the second century. By the time Apuleius wrote the Metamorphoses, the three chief categories of predictive dreams were (1) the allegorically predictive dream, which required an interpreter to understand the meaning of the dream symbols, (2) the straightforward predictive dream, in which future events take place as they appeared in the dream, and (3) the dream oracle, in which the divine or someone else appears and foretells some future happening. A recurring theme in the dreams of the Metamorphoses is reference to future events. The prominence of precognition in Apuleius' novel demonstrates a significant way in which literary dreams imitate real dreams in the second century. As we turn now to the dreams of the Metamorphoses, we shall see how both precognition and experience of the divine play a crucial role in Apuleius' dreamworld.


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Notes 1 E. and L. Edelstein, Asclepius: A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies. vol. 1, p. 157. 2 M. Aurelius, The Communings with Himself, translated by C. Haines, p. 25 (ch. 1, 17). 3 Ibid., p. 247 (ch. 9, 27), 4 Marcus Aurelius became widely known as a dream-giver after his death. 5 See A. Bouché-Leclercq, Histoire de la divination dans l'antiquité, vol. 1, p. 277, and R. de Becker, The Understanding of Dreams or the Machinations of the Night, translated by M. Heron, p. 147. 6 See E. Dodds, Pagan and Christian in an Age of Anxiety, p. 46. 7 Edelstein and Edelstein, Asclepius, vol. 1, p. 150. 8 Ibid., p. 153. 9 Quoted in N. Lewis, The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents, pp. 39-40. 10 E. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational, p. 106. 11 Quoted in Lewis, The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents, pp. 38-41, 12 Edelstein and Edelstein, Asclepius, vol. 1, pp. 151-52. 13 C. Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, p. 61. 14 Quoted in Lewis, The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents, p. 39. 15 Pausanias, Guide to Greece, translated by P. Levi, vol. 1, p. 492 (Bk. X, 9). 16 Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, pp. 56-58. 17 Met. 11,21. 18 Meier, Ancient Incubation and Modern Psychotherapy, pp. 115-16. 19 J. Walsh, "Galen's Writings and Influences Inspiring Them," Annals of Medical History, n.s. 6 (1934): 1-7. 20 R. Siegel, Galen on Psychologyt Psychopathology and Function and Diseases of the Nervous System: An Analysis of His Doctrines, Observations and Experiments, pp. 169-72. 21 Quoted in Walsh, "Galen's Writings and Influences Inspiring Them," p. 7. 22 Ibid., p. 7. 23 G. S art on, Galen of Pergamon, p. 83. 24 M. Kelsey, God, Dreams and Revelation: A Christian Interpretation of Dreams, p. 114. 25 Tertullian, De Anima, in Works in the Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 3, ch. 45. 26 Ibid. 27 Kelsey, God, Dreams and Revelation, p. 115. 28 Tertullian, Works in the Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 3, p. 699. 29 B. Kilborne, "Dreams," in Encyclopedia of Religion, edited by M. Eliade, vol. 4, p. 488. Kilborne contends that Artemidorus' Oneirocritica is "by far the most comprehensive and systematic treatment of dreams before Freud." 30 Artemidorus, The Interpretation of Dreams (Oneirocritica), translated by R. White, Bk. 1, prologue. 31 A. Oppenheim, The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East, pp. 184-97. 32 Artemidorus, Oneirocritica, Bk. 1,6 and Bk. 4, 2. 33 Ibid., Bk. 4, 22. 34 R. White points out that the belief that dreams were a continuation of one's activities during the day was widespread in the ancient world, and particularly in the

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35 36 37 38 39 40

41 42 43

44

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

54 55

The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'Metamorpho\ Moreover, Penwill sees a great difference between the effect of the underworld journey on Psyche and on Lucius: Psyche did not learn anything through her journey as she continued to be motivated by the desire to please Eros (which Penwill interprets as a dominance of irrational desire), while Lucius learned to contain his rash curiosity. Pen will does not sec any spiritual or mental development in Psyche and thus concludes she is not redeemed at all—-a sharp contrast to Lucius' redemption in which, says Penwill, he achieves immortality with persevering chastity.10 This recent literature demonstrates that the literary context is fundamental for a viable interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth, even where caveats are needed about the exact nature and extent of the parallels between Psyche and Lucius. Overall, these studies stress the myth's summarizing and prefiguring role in relation to Lucius' experience. They also strike a chord with some insights of the earlier psychological interpretations already observed—in particular, von Franz's suggestion that the myth can profitably be considered an archetypal dream.

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The Religious Dreamworld of Apuleius'Metamorpho\ p. 81. 4 P. Walsh, "Lucius Madaurensis," Phoenix 26 (1968): 146. 5 R. Merkelbach, "Eros und Psyche," in APy p. 398. 6 J. Tremhley, 'The Beloved Self: Erotic and Religious Themes in Apuleius' Metamorphoses and the Greek Romance" (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1981), p. 84. 7 P. James, Unity in Diversity, p. 120. 8 Ibid., p. 128. 9 J. Penwill, "Slavish Pleasures and Profitless Curiosity: Fall and Redemption in Apuleius' Metamorphoses" Ramus 4 (1975): 56. 10 Ibid., pp. 58-59. 11 At least fifteen passages in the Metamorphoses present dreams and their mysterious workings. 12 See my Dreams in the Psychology of Religion, pp. 138-39, 167-68.

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