Aegospotami was one of the most decisive battles of the ancient world. In an afternoon, the decades-long war between Athens and Sparta was suddenly resolved. While we know the outcome, we cannot be certain how this important day unfolded. Our accounts differ and have left historians guessing for centuries. What might have happened on that fateful day that ended the Peloponnesian War?

The Ionian War

The conflict between Athens and Sparta led to the Peloponnesian League dominating Greek politics during the 5th century BC. The former allies became rivals as the Athenians built a powerful maritime empire in the Aegean. From 431 BC, the land-based Spartans were locked in an increasingly bitter conflict with Athens. With their opposing powerbases, neither could defeat the other. Their war continued off-and-on for more than two decades.

By 405 BC, the Athenians had suffered numerous disasters but still clung on. Early in the war, the city was struck by plague as a Peloponnesian army confined the population behind its city walls. In 415 BC, the Athenians launched a major expedition to Sicily, only for a major slice of Athenian men, money, and ships to be lost. The end seemed near for Athens, and their allies and subjects revolted across the Aegean. But the Spartans were still not a sea power, and the Athenian fleet remained a potent weapon, winning a string of battles in the post-413 BC phase of the war, known as the Ionian War.

While Athens’ ability to hold on was remarkable, its position was extremely precarious. The Athenians could rebuild lost ships and try to prevent allies from revolting while scrapping together the money to pay for it, but there was no genuine prospect of defeating the Spartans. Sparta was now backed by the superpower of the day, the Persian Empire. This allowed Sparta to build its own fleets.

Lysander: Enemy at the Gates

For 405 BC, Sparta’s allies, and most importantly, the Persian prince Cyrus, knew who they wanted in command: Lysander.

Lysander’s early career is largely unknown. Sources suggest both that he was part of the Spartan aristocracy and that he grew up in poverty (Plutarch, Lysander 2.1). This probably reflects Sparta’s rigid social class system; he was likely one step removed from the Spartan elite.

He quickly showed his talent and was appointed admiral of the Spartan fleet in 407 BC. During his year in office, he built good relations with Cyrus and won a small but politically significant victory at Notium. Tricks and bribery were said to be key to Lysander’s way of war, and he regarded oaths as merely a tool to cheat men (Plutarch, Lysander 8.4).

Sparta’s allies, including Cyrus, were keen to see the return of this effective commander in 405 BC. The Spartans had to bend their laws to make this happen. The office of admiral was only meant to be held once, so the Spartans officially appointed a man named Arakos as admiral, with Lysander as his vice-admiral (Xenophon 2.1.6). Arakos instantly disappeared from the narrative, and there was never any doubt who was leading the Spartan fleet.

Lysander’s good relationship with Cyrus quickly brought results. The young Persian prince was soon recalled to the heart of his family’s empire and removed from the scene, but he made sure to give Lysander as much money as he could spare. Rich as the Persians were, they were not simply going to keep paying for Spartan fleets forever. Lysander was no doubt aware he had to make use of the Persian-funded fleet while he could and that Sparta could not afford any more defeats. The Spartans had already offered peace following their defeat at Arginusae, as they seemed unable to break Athenian naval superiority (Kagan 1987, 376). It was the Athenians who ultimately rejected the offer, but both sides were now close to exhaustion.

To the Hellespont

Lysander had around 125-150 trireme warships (Kagan 1987, 382). It was better paid than the Athenian fleet and so easily attracted sailors for hire. The campaign of 405 BC started with a display of Lysander’s ruthlessness at Iasos, an Athenian ally in Caria (modern Turkey). When the city was taken, 800 men were killed, and the women and children were sold as slaves (Diodorus 13.104). After raiding the region around the Athenian home territory of Attica, Lysander sailed back across the Aegean, backing Spartan supporters and attacking Athenian allies.

Lysander soon aimed for the jugular. The Hellespont (modern Dardanelles) was an area of vital interest to the Athenians. Attica was a large territory by the standards of Greek city-states, but it was difficult to feed the Athenian population of several hundred thousand from its soil alone. Grain from the Greek cities on the northern shore of the Black Sea was critical. But this trade route passed through the Hellespont. Here, Lysander could sit across a key supply line and starve Athens. When Lysander took the city of Lampsacus on the Asian shore of the Hellespont, the Athenians were left with no choice but to remove him as soon as possible.

Hearing of the attack on Lampsacus, the Athenians gathered all their available forces and sailed to confront Lysander with 180 triremes (Diodorus 13.105). Whereas Lysander was the sole leader of the Spartan fleet, the Athenians were led by six elected generals who rotated in command daily. Boards of generals were a common practice for the democratic Athenians, but the supply of capable commanders was running low (Wylie 1986, 126). Morale amongst those who served could not have been high.

The Athenians soured the victory at Arginusae by condemning and executing the victorious generals for apparent negligence when a storm prevented them from rescuing survivors. Of the six now in command, only one, Conon, had proven experience. The rest were mostly minor figures of limited experience, and one was notorious. In the Athenian assembly, Philocles had proposed mutilating the crews of captured enemy warships. When he captured two ships from Spartan allies, he threw the crews overboard.

The Stand-Off

Lysander’s capture of Lampsacus was key to how the campaign unfolded. Triremes were cramped warships packed with rowers, so the crew had to disembark regularly to rest and eat. By capturing a city as a base for his fleet, Lysander ensured a safe place to get supplies. The Athenians were not so lucky. They could not let Lysander do further damage in the Hellespont, so they had to stay close to him. The only place to base themselves opposite Lampsacus was the beaches of Aegospotami on the European shore. With Sestos, 12 miles away, being the closest friendly city, the Athenians had to pull their ships up onto the beach at Aegospotami and search the countryside for supplies every day.

While the Athenian position at Aegospotami was far from ideal, the generals had little choice. If they withdrew to their supplies at Sestos, they would allow Lysander to sail away and do further damage (Kagan 1987, 388). The Athenians needed to bring Lysander to battle quickly. Therefore, for three days, they sailed up to Lampsacus to challenge him. Lysander, comfortable in a fully supplied city, was in no rush and refused battle.

A key figure of the Peloponnesian War walked into this stalemate. As the stand-off continued, Alcibiades, an exiled Athenian aristocrat, entered the camp and offered advice to the generals. Alcibiades had once been a charismatic and bold Athenian leader but was now an exile. He had defected to Sparta, returned to Athens, and was then exiled again after the battle of Notium. In 405 BC, he was living on estates in the nearby region of Thrace.

At this point, our accounts of Aegospotami start to diverge. Xenophon (2.1.25), a contemporary but not always reliable source, states that Alcibiades advised the generals to move to Sestos, but that this obvious advice was dismissed. Diodorus (13.105), a later historian and also not entirely reliable, adds that Alcibiades offered to raise an army to support the Athenians. That offer was more useful than the advice, but Alcibiades had often made extravagant promises that went unfulfilled. He was again dismissed. Understandably, the Athenians dismissed the untrustworthy exile, but the extent of the danger they were in at Aegospotami would soon become apparent.

The Battle

Unfortunately, Xenophon and Diodorus give slightly different accounts of what happened on the decisive fifth day of the stand-off at Aegospotami. The divergent accounts cannot be fully reconciled, meaning we will never be sure what happened that day. However, they do tell a broadly similar story.

According to Xenophon, Lysander had carefully observed the Athenians while refusing battle. He quickly saw an opportunity in their routine. Each day after he refused battle, they returned to Aegospotami, drew their ships up on the beach, and dispersed to find food and supplies. One of Lysander’s ships watched the Athenians on the fifth day and signaled back to Lampscus when the Athenians had dispersed. Lysander quickly launched his fleet, crossing the narrow strait in ten minutes (Wylie 1986, 135). Lysander was upon the unprepared Athenians before they could react. The Spartan fleet captured the Athenian ships and stormed the camp. Few Athenian ships managed to put to sea, and they could do nothing more than escape the disaster.

In Diodorus, the events play out a little differently. Philocles, in command that day, had set out alone with 30 ships, having been low on supplies (Diodorus 13.106). Lysander, somehow aware of the Athenian plans, pounced on the smaller squadron and routed it before sailing on and overwhelming the unprepared Athenians at Aegospotami. Philocles sailing out with just 30 ships while the rest of the fleet waited unprepared seems difficult to explain. It has been suggested that this was an attempt to start withdrawing to Sestos, or to lure Lysander out (Kagan 1987, 389). The Spartans’ apparent knowledge of the plan perhaps explains why Lysander quickly defeated Philocles and caught the rest of the fleet off guard.

What unites the two accounts is that few Athenian ships even managed to get into battle, and most of the fleet was captured in a surprise attack on Aegospotami. There were attempts later in Athens to say that some ships did get into battle that day, but this has been dismissed as a later gloss on an embarrassing disaster (Kapellos 2012, 100).

Accusations of betrayal soon gained currency. Adeimantus, one of the six generals, appears in several sources as a traitor alongside others, including Alcibiades. Treachery would help explain Lysander’s success and accord with the belief that such methods were a part of his way of war.

However it came about, the fifth day at Aegospotami saw the destruction or capture of almost the entire Athenian fleet. After decades of fighting, there was now nothing left between the Spartan forces and Athens.

Aftermath of the Battle

As with the battle, there is a dispute over the fate of the Athenian prisoners. Philocles, the man who had proposed the harsh treatment of enemy prisoners, was certainly executed. Adeimantus, adding fuel to the rumors of his betrayal, was spared. Xenophon (2.1.31) and Plutarch (Lysander, 13.1) claim that up to 3,000 Athenian prisoners were killed following a debate amongst the Spartan allies.

Lysander now sailed through the Aegean, rolling up the remains of the Athenian Empire. Athenian garrisons were dispatched back to Athens to swell the population that would soon be under siege. On land, Peloponnesian armies surrounded the city while Lysander cut off supplies from the sea. Admirably and no doubt fearing that the destruction unleashed across the Greek world over the last 26 years of war was coming home, the Athenians manned their defenses and withstood the siege. By late 405 BC, supplies were running low, and negotiations got underway.

It was not until early 404 BC that the war finally ended. The Athenians were reluctant to surrender unconditionally and eventually earned some concessions. Their once-supreme fleet was gone, the walls that had frustrated the Spartans for decades were torn down, and the Athenian democracy was replaced by a pro-Spartan oligarchy. The Athenians at least escaped the destruction of their city, which some Spartan allies called for.

The Peloponnesian War did not, in the long run, resolve anything for Greece. The Athenians restored democracy and were battling the Spartans again before long. However, they never fully recovered the power that was finally lost that afternoon at Aegospotami.

Sources

• Kagan. D. (1987). The Fall of the Athenian Empire. Cornell University Press.
• Kapellos, A. (2012). “Philocles and the Sea-Battle at Aegospotami (Xenophon Hell. 2.1.22–32)” Classical World, vol. 106, no. 1, pp. 97-104.
• Wylie, G. (1986). “What really happened at Aegospotami ?” L’antiquité classique, Tome 55, pp. 125-141.

In 415 BC, a powerful Athenian fleet sailed for Sicily. It proved to be a critical moment in the 27-year-long Peloponnesian War between the Athenians and the Spartans, which would decide who would dominate the Greek world. Thanks in large part to the detailed account by Thucydides, the Sicilian Expedition became one of the most famous episodes of an era-defining conflict. It raises questions about foreign entanglements, democracy, and imperial ambitions.

The Sicilian Debate

The Athenians have often been criticized for sailing to Sicily when their long-running conflict with the Spartans was still unresolved. Thucydides (6.1), the contemporary Athenian general turned historian, was clear that the expedition aimed to conquer the whole island. Though exiled at the time, he thought that the Athenian democracy acted out of ignorance and ambition. But was the move driven by the events of the day, or motivated by deep-seated ambition?

The expedition was directly caused by Sicilian politics. Two communities, Leontini and Segesta, were threatened by Sicily’s largest city, Syracuse, and its allies. Desperate for aid, they sent envoys to Athens. The Athenians had already sent modest expeditions to Sicily to assist allies between 427 and 424 BC. Having achieved little, these Athenian forces withdrew when the Sicilian communities reached a peace in 424 BC. Now, in 415 BC, they were being called back. The Athenians were cautious rather than jumping at the opportunity. Envoys went back and forth, and the Segestans resorted to deception to convince the Athenians that they could cover their expenses.

In 415 BC, the Athenian assembly debated the Sicilian question. In favor of sending aid was the young rising star of Athens, Alcibiades. So far, his career had shown aggression and ambition, though only limited success. He was opposed by the elderly, cautious, and experienced Nicias. The debate went Alcibiades’ way, and the Athenians voted to dispatch a fleet of 60 ships. This was a defeat for Nicias, even though he was appointed one of the expedition’s generals. The size of the fleet was in line with previous missions and does not appear especially ambitious. It was Nicias’ next step that set Athens on the road to disaster.

At the assembly to discuss the mission’s details, Nicias reopened the debate. Failing again, he changed tactics. He tried to scare the assembly by advising that a much greater and more expensive fleet was needed. Instead of refusing the extra costs, the assembly called his bluff and voted to increase the size of the expedition. Nicias had inadvertently turned a limited mission into a major and risky undertaking.

Ambition and Ambiguity

Thucydides’ account does not back up his claim about Athens’ having grand, ill-informed ambitions in Sicily (Kagan 1981, 165). They had taken their time and initially decided on a moderate response. Unpredictable events raised the stakes.

Thucydides is clearly correct that the Athenians were an ambitious and aggressive community. During their rise to prominence in the 5th century BC, the Athenians had shown a taste for distant military adventures in Cyprus, Egypt, and Italy. With a precarious peace with the Spartans in place since 421 BC, and having recovered somewhat from the losses of the war’s first decade, the Athenians were likely willing to look out again. Conquest of Sicily may not have been the initial aim, but should the opportunity present itself, many Athenians would take it. How practical that would be is a different question, but it would have made some strategic sense. Sicily was a large, rich island. While the Athenians had some Sicilian friends, the largest city, Syracuse, even though it was a democracy, had links to the Peloponnesians. Should it ever enter the war in Greece, it would be on the Spartan side.

The Athenians may have fared better had they genuinely aimed at conquest from the beginning. The goal of the expedition was to aid Athens’ allies. That implied war with Syracuse, though the stated orders were open to interpretation, while the inflated fleet increased the risk of the gamble. The ambiguity of the venture would hamper the Athenians’ efforts.

An Ill-Omened Beginning

As the Athenians were loading their ships in mid-415 BC, the city was shocked by a series of sacrilegious acts. One night, an unknown group of people roamed through the city vandalizing the sculptures known as Herms. These short columns, often marked with the head of a god, frequently Hermes, stood at prominent locations such as crossroads. With Hermes associated with travelling, the act was clearly aimed at the expedition and was troubling from a political as well as religious point of view (Kagan 1981, 194).

With Athens in uproar, further rumors surfaced. Some elite groups had committed other sacrilegious acts by conducting mock ceremonies of one of Athens’ most sacred rites, the Eleusinian Mysteries. This time, Alcibiades, who had been appointed one of the expedition’s commanders, was implicated. He called for an immediate trial, hoping to clear his name before leaving, but his many opponents delayed it. One of the expedition’s main supporters and generals sailed away with capital charges hanging over his head.

Though it left under a cloud, the force that left Athens in summer 415 BC was impressive. Thousands of sailors manned 134 trireme warships. The triremes and transport ships carried 5,100 hoplite heavy infantrymen and over a thousand light-armed troops. Joining Nicias and Alcibiades in command was the experienced general Lamachus. The three generals were an odd mix of ambition, experience, and reluctance, but they were skilled commanders and diplomats.

Upon arriving in Sicily, the three generals each proposed a different plan. Nicias, having failed to stop the expedition, wanted to cut it short. He suggested sailing around the island to demonstrate Athens’ power before leaving a smaller force with the allies and sending the rest straight home. Alcibiades wanted to build a network of alliances, paving the way for a sustained Athenian presence. Lamachus argued that while their force was at its peak and its enemies unprepared, now was the time for a direct strike at Syracuse. Modern scholars look favorably on Lamachus’ strategy (Kagan 1981/Hansen 2005), but he seemed to have lacked authority with his colleagues and had to side with Alcibiades.

Quickly, the fleet proved ill-suited for this approach. A sizeable Athenian force suddenly showing up may have overawed some, but was worrying for many. Consequently, the Greek cities of southern Italy were reluctant to cooperate. The trend continued in Sicily. Worse, not long after Alcibiades got to work, with very limited success, he was ordered to return to Athens to stand trial. Not having much faith in the Athenian courts, he instead slipped away and defected to Sparta.

The Siege of Syracuse

Much of 415 BC was wasted. Few allies came forward, and existing allies did not provide the promised funds. Late in the year, Nicias decided to move on Syracuse, but despite winning a battle outside the city walls, the Athenians withdrew back to their base. The expedition was at least now fixed on a definitive purpose, the siege of Syracuse.

Both sides took the winter to prepare. The Syracusans looked to Athens’ enemies in Greece. The Athenians noted that they were unable to exploit their victory outside the walls because of the Syracusan cavalry. Few horsemen had sailed from Athens, and Nicias now belatedly assembled a force. By early 414 BC, the great siege of Syracuse began.

The key to taking Syracuse was the patch of high ground and cliffs in front of the city to the west, known as Epipolae. The Athenians needed control of Epipolae to complete a wall to seal Syracuse off. The Syracusans, especially the cavalry, harassed the Athenians and started construction of their own counter-walls. However, the Athenians won many of these skirmishes, though Lamachus was killed in one battle, tightening the noose.

Nicias has been criticized for moving too slowly to finish the walls and complete the blockade (Kagan 1981, 273), but it may be that the Athenian force was too small for the task. During this phase, the Athenians could focus on construction or defeating the Syracusan attacks, but not both at the same time. Too large for diplomacy, too small to take Syracuse. The ambiguity of the Athenian expedition again hampered it.

While the Syracusans could only delay the Athenians, they had survived just long enough. Several months into the siege, the Syracusans were nearly surrounded and were talking of surrender. At just this moment, Peloponnesian and Spartan aid arrived. A Spartan officer named Gylippus slipped past an unobservant Nicias and marched a small relief force through the unfinished section of the siege wall. The morale boost was enough for the Syracusans to renew the battle around Epipolae. In the end, it was the Syracusans who finished their construction first, as they completed a counter-wall which stopped Athenian progress and kept a route to the city open.

Rolling the Dice

Syracuse remained in a precarious position, but the Athenians were losing the initiative as 414 BC ended. Nicias reported back to Athens that not only was he himself ill and in poor condition to continue, but that the expedition needed either recalling or reinforcing. Unwilling to give up now that they had committed so much, the Athenian assembly voted to prepare a relief force under Demosthenes and Eurymedon.

The second armada amassed another 70 ships and 5,000 hoplites. The combined force of over 200 ships and more than 40,000 men represented around half of Athens’ total strength (Hansen 2005). A great deal of Athens’ power now rested on victory in this controversial expedition.

Once the relief force arrived in 413 BC, Demosthenes saw that the situation needed quick, decisive action. Epipolae remained the key, but attacking the high ground was extremely difficult. In a bold and rare move in ancient warfare, the Athenians decided on a night attack. After a promising start, they got confused and lost in the darkness. Unable to tell friend from foe, the attack stalled and then failed. As many as 2,000 Athenians died, the largest losses of the campaign so far.

Following the defeat, Demosthenes argued for abandoning the siege, but Nicias hesitated, claiming the city was still about to surrender. Most likely, he feared returning to Athens in defeat. The arrival of further reinforcements for the besieged finally changed his mind, but then the gods intervened with a lunar eclipse. Piety was a key element in Nicias’ personality and public image, and he took this as a bad omen and refused to start the retreat. The delay proved fatal.

Battle in the Great Harbor

Giving up on victory on land, the Athenians now had to fight for their lives at sea. Athens was a maritime power with the largest and most skilled Greek fleet. However, wooden triremes need constant maintenance to stay at sea, and while Demosthenes’ ships were fresh, much of the fleet was not in top condition. Moreover, the Syracusans had been preparing and improving their fleet. Corinth formed the backbone of the Peloponnesian fleet, and several officers were now aiding the Syracusans. They had also found a simple but effective way to counter Athenian naval superiority. The hulls of the Syracusan vessels were reinforced so they could ram lighter Athenian ships head-on.

Following the latest Athenian delay, the Syracusans attacked in the Great Harbor, the large bay to the south of Syracuse. In the narrow confines of the harbor, the heavy Syracusan ships had the upper hand. When the Syracusans blocked the entrance to the harbor, the Athenians were forced to throw everything at an attempted breakout.

The fleet was the best hope for getting home, and so the Athenians prepared for a desperate battle by manning over a hundred triremes. The Syracusans had just over seventy ships, but they only had to defend the narrow entrance to the harbor and prevent an escape. The Athenians put everything they had into the battle, but they could not break through. Demosthenes tried rallying the remaining forces, but the demoralized Athenians refused to man their ships.

Retreat and Disaster

There was only one option left: retreat over land to the friendly city of Catana. The remaining force of soldiers, sailors, and non-combatants was still over 40,000 strong, but the road would be long and hostile. As the Athenians departed, leaving behind their dead and wounded, the Syracusans blocked the roads and mountain passes. Once again, the Syracusan cavalry haunted the Athenians with constant raids. Nicias, though still ill, did his best to encourage his men, but six days into the march, his column became separated from Demosthenes’ rearguard. When surrounded, Demosthenes had no choice but to surrender himself and his 6,000 men.

Nicias struggled on for two more days. When his thirsty soldiers reached the Assimarus River, they rushed to the banks to drink. There they were cut down by a merciless Syracusan attack. 18,000 died, and 7,000 were captured according to Diodorus (13.19). The fate of the prisoners was perhaps worse than that of the dead. Demosthenes and Nicias were executed. The prisoners not immediately sold into slavery were dumped into quarries outside Syracuse and fed starvation rations for months. It is said a few earned their freedom by reciting sections of the playwright Euripides, whom the Syracusans adored (Plutarch, Nicias 29.2). Most of the rest died slowly in the quarries.

The Athenian expedition, launched in 415 BC under controversy and with vague intentions, had ended in an unmitigated disaster. Tens of thousands died, and hundreds of ships were lost, along with the myth of Athenian superiority. The frozen war with Sparta was now hot again. The Peloponnesian War continued for another decade, but Athenian miscalculations had turned it from a struggle for supremacy to a fight for survival.

Sources

• Hanson, V. D. (2005). A war like no other: How the Athenians and Spartans fought the Peloponnesian War. Random House.
• Kagan, D. (1981). The Peace of Nicias and the Sicilian Expedition. Cornell University Press.
• Thatcher, M. (2024). “Thucydides, Segesta, and Leontini: Rethinking the Sicilian Expedition,” The Classical Quarterly (2024). 74.2
• Tritle, L. A. (2010). A New History of the Peloponnesian War. Wiley-Blackwell.

In February AD 197, the fields outside Lugdunum ran red with the blood of Roman soldiers. But it was not a barbarian invasion that threatened the Empire. Rome’s Golden Age, almost a century of political tranquility, died with Commodus on New Year’s Eve AD 192. The protracted civil war that followed culminated in this clash between the former allies Septimius Severus and Clodius Albinus in the largest battle in Rome’s history. When the dust settled, the ruthless military autocracy of the Severans reshaped the Roman world.

Rome’s Golden Age Ends in a Bloody Assassination

On New Year’s Eve AD 192, a cabal of Roman senators and other conspirators finally gathered the courage to strike against a tyrant. The victim of the plot was the emperor Commodus. Famous to modern audiences as the villain of the Hollywood blockbuster Gladiator, he had slowly descended into megalomania for the latter part of his 12-year reign. He was increasingly cruel with delusions of grandeur that went far beyond an obsession with the gladiatorial arena. Reputedly, he was even planning to rename Rome itself as Commodiana!

On December 31, drunk and bloated as he wallowed in his bath, Commodus was poisoned. Unfortunately for the conspirators, the emperor survived and managed to purge his body of the toxins. However, in his weakened state, he was an easy target. Narcissus, a powerful young wrestler who was kept around Commodus’ court, was dispatched by the emperor’s mistress to finish the job. The wrestler strangled Commodus.

With his death, Rome’s so-called Golden Age came to an end. This was almost a century of political peace and stability that coincided with the reigns of the Antonine Emperors: Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius. Commodus, Marcus Aurelius’ son, died with no heirs, creating a political vacuum.

Early on New Year’s Day, Rome awakened to a new emperor, the elder statesman, Publius Helvius Pertinax. While he was recognized by his fellow senators, he was otherwise unpopular, especially with the influential Praetorian Guards. The imperial bodyguards, accustomed to lavish pay and an easy life under Commodus, did not take kindly to the new emperor’s tighter control of their pay and privileges. Within three months, Pertinax was murdered by the disgruntled guards.

Rival Claimants to Imperial Power

With the death of Pertinax, Rome descended into political chaos. The Praetorian Guards retreated into their camp, fearful of retribution, but also with the power to create the next emperor. Two men entreated them: Titus Sulpicianus and Didius Julianus. Each offered the soldiers increasingly higher sums of money.

This donative or cash payment was a typical gift offered by new emperors upon their accession. Despite this, the competitive character of the negotiations was grubby. The whole fiasco was later characterized as an auction for the empire. In the end, Julianus’ “bid” of 25,000 sesterces for each guardsman won, and he was welcomed into the camp and proclaimed emperor.

But while Julianus was in control of Rome, rival candidates for imperial power emerged around the Empire. In the East, the governor of Syria, Pescennius Niger, was acclaimed by his soldiers. When Julianus hosted public games in the Circus Maximus, rather than cheer him, the furious public hurled insults at him and chanted for the respected general Niger to take his place. In the West, the governor of Britain, Clodius Albinus, was also declared emperor. Between these two rivals, there was a third, Septimius Severus, the governor of Pannonia.

Septimius Severus Divides and Conquers His Rivals

Of all of the imperial rivals, Severus was recognized as the shrewdest, not only by his contemporaries but also later by Machiavelli. He described the man as embodying the courage of a lion and the cunning of a fox. The governor of Pannonia knew that once Julianus was dealt with, there would be a conflict between the surviving rivals. Severus’ approach was one of divide and conquer.

First, he marched on Rome, where he promptly dispatched Julianus and the avaricious Praetorians who had “sold” the Empire. With the symbolic heart of the Empire secured, Severus made overtures to Clodius Albinus. An alliance between the two was formed, with Severus recognizing Clodius as his junior partner and “heir.” Crucially, no formal adoption took place. Nevertheless, Albinus started using “Severus” as part of his nomenclature. A dedication at Ostia refers to “Augustus Severus and Caesar Albinus.”

With Italy and the western provinces under his control, Severus turned his attention to Niger in the East. Notwithstanding a protracted siege of the city of Byzantium, which remained loyal to Niger, Severus defeated his eastern rival over the course of 193-194. The decisive battle was fought at Issus in spring 194, the same battleground on which Alexander the Great had defeated the Persians centuries before.

He then briefly campaigned against the eastern territories that had allied with Niger, including the Arabians and Adiabenes. Known as the First Parthian War, the strategic goals are hard to ascertain. Cassius Dio suggests the war was simply a means for Severus to gain further glory and wealth. Significantly, the campaign also allowed Severus to integrate Niger’s defeated forces into his own ranks. He would need all the fighting men he could muster for the battles that lay ahead.

The City of Lugdunum as a Setting for War

The city of Lugdunum, modern Lyon, was located in southern Gaul. Originally a Gallic settlement, a Roman city had been founded on the site in 43 BC by Lucius Munatius Plancus. Lugdunum rapidly became the administrative capital of the province of Roman Gaul. Its importance came, in part, from its position at the confluence of four major arterial roads, which connected it with important Gallic cities, Italy, and the German frontier and made it a commercial hub. Rome established a mint and an imperial cult altar in the city, confirming its importance.

Lugdunum was closely connected with numerous imperial figures throughout its history. During the Julio-Claudian dynasty, the city hosted Agrippa, Drusus , Tiberius, and Germanicus, who had all served in Lugdunum during their military careers. Claudius, the son of Drusus and a future emperor, was born in Lugdunum in 10 BC. These imperial connections greatly benefited the city, and the population boomed.

Fresh drinking water was poured into the city through four aqueducts, which supplied homes and public baths. Residents of the city were entertained by spectacles at the “Amphitheater of the Three Gauls,” the first amphitheater constructed in Gaul. The importance of the city was confirmed by Claudius’ so-called “Lyon Tablet.” This document records a speech delivered to the Senate in AD 48, also recorded in Tacitus’ Annals, which proposed to allow monied, landed citizens from Gaul to enter the Senate.

Heirs and Spares: The Break Between Severus and Albinus

Having defeated Pescennius Niger, absorbed his soldiers, and filled his coffers with loot, Severus was now primed to confront his sole remaining rival, whom he no longer needed. By late 196, it was clear to many observers that war was looming.

The definitive catalyst for the break was Severus’ reneging on his initial deal with Albinus. Severus named his ten-year-old son, Lucius Septimius Bassianus, better known as Caracalla, Caesar. He was born at Lugdunum in 188 while his father was posted there as the provincial governor. While the boy would have no real political power, the symbolic significance was clear.

Moreover, Severus had Caracalla’s actual name changed to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, connecting his family with the previous dynasty. This may have been to counter Albinus’ superior aristocracy as well as promote ideas of continuity.

Before long, in a speech delivered to his soldiers, Severus urged them to declare Albinus a hostis publicus, an enemy of the state, an act which was usually a senatorial prerogative. With the assent of the soldiers, war was now inevitable.

Armies on the March and Initial Skirmishes

Albinus struck first. Having been recognized by his own forces as emperor, he gathered legions from Britain and marched them south through Gaul, establishing his headquarters at Lugdunum. His choice reiterates the city’s strategic importance. There, Albinus was joined by Lucius Novius Rufus, the governor of Hispania, and the legion under his command.

From Lugdunum, Albinus attacked the Germanic legions who were loyal to Severus and led by the governor Virius Lupus. Despite some successes, Albinus’ assaults were not enough to break the resolve of Lupus’ forces. Further encroachment south toward Italy was not feasible, as Severus had reinforced the Alpine passes. This brought Severus enough time to amass his forces along the Danube River and head west, marching into Gaul.

It was during these initial skirmishes that one of the most extraordinary figures from Roman history emerged. Although he was only a schoolmaster, Numerianus evidently felt compelled to join the Severan cause. Masquerading as a senator sent by Severus to raise an army, Numerianus gathered a small group of men in Gaul and undertook a series of daring raids, including defeating a group of Albinus’ cavalry. Unaware of the false identity, Severus, who believed Numerianus to be a senator, commended the schoolmaster-turned-guerilla and ordered him to continue.

Numerianus then had his most striking success. In a raid on Albinus’ forces, he captured and delivered to Severus 70 million sesterces. In the aftermath of the war, Numerianus was offered the wealth and status he pretended to have. The humble schoolmaster politely rejected these privileges. Instead, he opted for a quiet life in the country and a small allowance from the emperor in recognition of his services.

The Bloody Battle and Severan Triumph

An initial skirmish between Severus’ and Albinus’ forces at Tinurtium, modern Tournus, was ultimately inconclusive, although Severus would claim the day. Instead, having fallen back, Albinus and his men drew up at Lugdunum and, on February 19, 197, prepared to fight the largest battle in Roman history. The exact numbers of combatants are hard to establish. Cassius Dio records 150,000 men on each side. Both Severus and Albinus led their forces personally.

The battle was tense. As Severus’ right wing broke through and devastated Albinus’ camps, his left wing suffered terrible losses against Albinus’ right. In fact, in his efforts to salvage his forces from the massacre unfolding on his left wing, Severus himself was unseated from his horse and nearly killed. He displayed his courage, tearing off his cavalry cloak and brandishing his sword to rally his panicked men.

The decisive maneuver of the day was led by Laetus, the commander of Severus’ cavalry. He was initially reluctant to join the fighting, considering self-preservation and possibly securing power for himself in the case of Severus’ death. But when the cavalry saw the tide begin to turn, they charged Albinus’ forces, breaking the army’s resolve. Severus was victorious.

How the Victory at Lugdunum Established the Brutal Severan Dynasty

The Battle of Lugdunum exacted a heavy price with many thousands of Roman dead on each side. Men and horses were strewn across the battleground, while their blood poured into the rivers. According to Dio, Albinus fled the battleground and sought shelter in a house beside the Rhone. Realizing his desperate plight, he committed suicide. Severus, presented with the body of his defeated rival, gave free rein to his rage. The corpse was desecrated and then decapitated. The head of Albinus was dispatched to Rome for public display.

Albinus’s supporters in Rome fared little better. The emperor’s rage was made known in dispatches, with Severus even praising the cruelty of Sulla, whose victory in civil war had been followed by senatorial bloodletting in the notorious proscriptions. Upon Severus’ return to Rome, while the people were rewarded with donatives and celebrations, many senators were executed, and their wealth seized.

The last man standing, Severus focused on consolidating his nascent dynasty. A Second Parthian War was fought. Celebrated on the Arch of Septimius Severus in the Forum Romanum, the war won more glory, more riches, and more territory. To confirm his commitment to imperial stability, he claimed Marcus Aurelius as a father. Elsewhere, Severus modeled himself on Augustus with great building projects, including the restoration of the Pantheon, and the construction of the enigmatic Septizodium, a now-lost colossal nymphaeum at the foot of the Palatine Hill. Despite his best efforts, the stability Severus sought would prove elusive.

The idea of the ancient Celt is synonymous with blue-painted warriors, white-cloaked druids, soft-spoken women in flowing dresses, and perhaps the odd warrior queen.

While their languages may have been related, the Celts were not a single, unified people. They comprised many distinct cultures and had regional pantheons that reflected the cultures they represented. Of prominence were the Irish, Welsh, and Gaulish pantheons, each with its own set of fascinating stories.

Among these pantheons were powerful gods and goddesses, who played an integral part in Celtic life.

1. The Dagda: The Father of the Gods

Chief among the Tuatha Dé Danann (the Irish race of gods and goddesses) is the Dagda, the father figure of Irish mythology. He represents many things and is associated with agriculture and fertility as well as masculinity, magic, strength, and druidry. He has power over the seasons and the passage of time. With his staff, Lorc, he also has power over life and death. With one end of the staff, he kills, and with the other end, he brings life.

The Dagda is often depicted as a bearded man wearing a cloak and a hood, carrying his staff, and in the presence of his cauldron, a bottomless vessel representing prosperity and abundance, as it never lets anyone go hungry. He is said to dwell in the ancient site of Brú na Bóinne (Newgrange).

The “Good God” is a wealth of stories and is popular today as a complex source of inspiration, symbolizing Ireland’s rich mythological history. He is written and sung about, and he makes frequent appearances at Irish festivals, where he is celebrated.

2. Brigid: The Goddess Whom Poets Adored

In Irish mythology, Brigid, the daughter of the Dagda, is associated with a host of virtues and positive aspects of life. She is the goddess of poetry, wisdom, healing, protection, domesticated animals, and smithing. She is also the regional goddess of Leinster, and she was invoked by Leinster warriors before battle.

9th-century monks wrote of Brigid as having two sisters, both named Brigid, with one being a healer and the other a smith. This suggests the goddess may have been considered a triple deity. She is also said to have been a great inspiration for poets.

Brigid’s ability to heal is a primary attribute that was spoken of in the folklore of Ireland. It is said she has a cloak that could cover and heal all of Ireland. Her cloak was also said to envelop Ireland on February 1, at the festival of Imbolc, turning winter into spring. Brigid was especially revered by women and midwives who invoked her during childbirth.

Saint Brigid of Kildare, the patroness saint of Ireland, is thought by many to have been a Christianization of the Celtic goddess, as the two share many of the same defining features, such as a propensity towards healing, as well as their holy days. Saint Brigid’s feast day is February 1.

3. The Morrígan

Deriving her name from the old Irish “Mór-ríoghan,” meaning “phantom” or “great” queen, the Morrígan is a fearful and terrifying deity, full of violent power and might. She is frequently interpreted as a war goddess and is associated with battle and fate.

Reducing the Morrigan to a single easily describable entity is a difficult proposition. In folkloric traditions, she has many names and is often thought of as another triple-goddess, or a triad of sisters who are the same deity, but represent very different aspects. While one of these sisters is named the Morrígan, another, Badb, is a war goddess who takes the form of a crow. Indeed, the name simply means “crow.” The other sister is Macha, a sovereignty goddess of Ulster. Sometimes the goddess Nemain is also named, possibly as an aspect of Badb. Nemain represents the frenzied havoc of battle.

Modern researchers and authors have also linked the Morrígan to the enchantress Morgan le Fay, an important and powerful character in the Welsh Arthurian legends.

4. Lugh: The Many-Skilled God

Lugh Lámfota, or “Lugh of the Long Arm,” is a major deity in the Celtic pantheon, who was revered for his many skills. Also known for his intelligence, Lugh was seen as a warrior, a craftsman, an artist, and even a king.

Lugh is thought of as an Irish god, but his presence there is theorized to have originated from people fleeing the Roman conquest of Gaul. The harvest festival of “Lughnasadh” or “Lughnasa,” traditionally held on August 1, was in honor of Lugh, and today remnants of the festival are still held as the Puck Fair in the town of Killorglin, County Kerry. Although in the modern version, the festival is held a few days later, and is in honor of a goat who gets crowned “King Puck.” On the continent, Lugh is known as Lugus, and in Wales, he is manifested as the mythological hero, Lleu Llaw Gyffes.

In Irish mythology, Lugh is a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann and possesses several magical items that complement his powers. He has a fiery, unstoppable spear, a magic sling stone, and a hound named Failinis who is invincible in battle, always catches his prey, and can turn running water into wine by bathing in it.

5. Cernunnos: The Antlered God of Nature

“Cernunnos” is a name used to identify a cluster of “Cernunnos-type” gods depicted from Italy to Denmark and France. These depictions might represent a single deity or many gods of a similar theme across Celtic societies. He has also been connected to an Irish folk hero, Conall Cernach, who is said to have lived in the 1st century BC. Similar in appearance across a wide portion of Europe, Cernunnos is depicted with antlers and with torcs hanging around the lower part of his antlers.

This was a fitting image for the god of nature, animals, and wild places. As such, he was a god likely revered by rural tribes, hunters, and other such people who had a close affiliation with the natural world.

6. Epona: Protector of Horses and Travelers

Epona is known to archaeologists through a fusion of Gallic and Roman religions, which brought the Celtic religion of the Gauls into the Roman sphere of influence. Epona was a product of Romanization, although she is likely to have had roots in Celtic religion long before the Romans arrived in Gaul.

Epona was the goddess of horses, ponies, and mules, and a protector of travelers. Historical relics always depict her with at least one horse, and she is often shown holding a libation bowl, surrounded by foals and ears of wheat. This may indicate she was also revered as a goddess of fertility.

In modern times, Epona is worshiped by neo-Pagans and holds an especially noteworthy place on Mackinac Island in Michigan, where she is the subject of the Feast of Epona. On this island, populated by around 600 people, automobiles are nonexistent, and horses represent the only form of travel.

7. Taranis: The God of Thunder and the Wheel

Associated with storms and wheels, Taranis was a powerful deity in many Celtic pantheons. While the name “Taranis” is the version recorded by the Romans, as much of what is known comes from the Romans, who wrote about him, varied names with the same etymology crop up around much of Europe, and are associated with the same ideas of a god who wields a thunderbolt as a weapon. Derived from the proto-Celtic toranos, the name is possibly even inter-ethnic, with variations on the same name. “Taranis” could be cognate with the Germanic Thor and Donner.

According to Roman records, Taranis was among the few gods to whom human sacrifices were offered, although no conclusive evidence has been found to confirm this. His victims were supposedly burned in wooden containers.

8. Arawn: The King of the Otherworld

In the Welsh pantheon, Arawn is the lord of the Otherworld realm of Annwn, which was believed to be a blessed paradise. Known mostly from the Mabinogion, a collection of Welsh stories compiled in the 12th and 13th centuries, Arawn is revered as a warrior, a hunter, and a magician with the ability to shapeshift. Accompanied by his red-eared hounds, Arawn takes part in the Wild Hunt, a spectral chase across the night sky.

He became known as the Lord of the Underworld and was inexorably linked to death, thus being associated with Samhain, known today as Halloween, which marked the end of the year in Celtic tradition. This association led him to be demonized in Christian customs, which replaced much of the Celtic traditions in Wales.

In modern culture, Arawn makes several appearances, being a character in the video game Bloodforge, as well as being included as an entity in Dungeons & Dragons. He is the subject of the French comic series Arawn, which retells the stories of the Mabinogion.

9. Cerridwen: The Goddess of Rebirth and Transformation

Keeper of Awen, the Cauldron of Inspiration, Cerridwen is a powerful enchantress and goddess of Welsh mythology. From her cauldron, she brews potions imbued with the power of wisdom, prophecy, and inspiration.

According to the legend, her son, Morfran, was hideously ugly, and Cerridwen sought to compensate him by giving him wisdom through the power of a potion. The danger of this potion was that the first three drops would grant wisdom, but any more would cause death. While making the potion, a boy named Gwion, who was stirring the cauldron, accidentally spilled three drops of the hot liquid on his thumb, and instinctively put his thumb in his mouth, thus gaining the power of the concoction. He fled, and an angry Cerridwen chased him. Gwion also gained the power of transformation through the potion, and both Cerridwen and Gwion turned themselves into many animals to try and outwit each other. Eventually, Gwion transformed himself into a grain of corn, after which Cerridwen transformed into a hen and ate him.

Gwion, however, did not die. Cerridwen became pregnant with Gwion, and she resolved to kill him upon his birth, but when he was born, he was so beautiful that she could not do it. Instead, she threw him into the sea, and he was later rescued, growing up to be the legendary bard Taliesin.

10. Rhiannon: The Goddess of Sovereignty

In Welsh mythology, Rhiannon is the archetypal mother goddess. She is a courtly lady, intelligent, wise, and generous with her wealth. As a symbol of sovereignty, Rhiannon shows a great deal of agency by choosing Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, as her consort, breaking a pre-arranged contract to marry another prince, Gwawl.

Often depicted riding a horse, Rhiannon is closely linked to these animals and can be considered a Welsh version of Epona, an earlier Celtic horse goddess from the continent.

So close is her relationship to horses that in one story, after being unjustly accused of murdering her son, she is forced to act as a horse and carry guests around the royal court. Throughout her tribulations, she maintained her dignity. Ultimately, her son is restored, and her name is cleared.

11. Manannán mac Lir: The Lord of the Sea

In Irish, Scottish, and Manx mythology, Manannán is a sea god, a warrior, and a king of the Otherworld. He is the lord of Emhain Abhlach (‘Isle of Apple-trees’), an otherworldly realm hidden from mortal eyes by a sea of mist known as the féth fíada.

Among his possessions are a self-navigating boat named Sguaba Tuinne (‘Wave-sweeper’), a sword that saps the strength of its foes and which can not be stopped by armor, and a horse named Aonbharr, which can traverse water as well as land.

Manannán is the protector of travelers, both on land and at sea, and was widely invoked by those off on a long voyage, especially by sailors, who had to brave the vast and fickle oceans.

While the modern Celtic identity is alive and vibrant with art, culture, language, festivals, national pride, and a comparatively unified identity, the history of what could be considered Celtic, and who the people were, is a far more complex notion. Some scholars even cast doubt on the usage of the term “Celt,” claiming there is no basis for it to be used as an ethnic identifier, while others defend against this “Celtoscepticism.” Arguments are flung both ways, claiming political motivation related to nationalist movements and devolution (among other factors) within the United Kingdom.

But who are the historical people associated with the Celts, and how has the interpretation of their existence shaped modern understandings of Celtic identity?

“Celts”: Names and Nations

The term “Celts” was first used by Hecataeus of Miletus around 517 BC when he referred to the people living near Massilia in southern Gaul as Κελτοί (Keltoi). This was followed by Herodotus, who in the 5th century BC, referred to the Celts as people living by the source of the Danube.

In the first century BC, Julius Caesar mentioned that the Gauls called themselves Celts in their own language; however, whether this name was indigenous or appropriated from another language describing them is unknown. There is no epigraphic evidence to support Caesar’s claim. In the years that followed, Strabo wrote of Celts living in Iberia, while Pliny the Elder noted that “Celtici” was a tribal last name in Lusitania (mostly modern-day Portugal).

While the majority of those who identify with Celtic heritage today hail from the British Isles, the classical texts never mention the Celts in relation to the people living there. Rather, they use individual tribal names, although Roman historian Tacitus noted how the Britons were culturally similar to the Gauls.

Thus, the term “Celt” was a Greco-Roman exonym used to describe a loose collection of dissonant tribes with some shared culture rather than a unified cultural entity, although an association was inferred. Despite this historical problem with identifiers, the modern definition of “Celt” exists as describing members of an early Indo-European people who, around the time of the second millennium to the first century BC, were spread across Europe and occupied areas from the Black Sea to the British Isles.

The Rediscovery of the Celts

After the fall of the Western Roman Empire, the term “Celt” virtually died out. There was no concept of wider Celtic identity during the Medieval era, and by this time, the linguistic and cultural components of what could be considered Celtic tribes had been pressed to the peripheries by Roman and Germanic movements. Despite the displacement, these cultures thrived in Scotland, Ireland, Cornwall, Wales, and Brittany, and were able to resist certain cultural degradation. Christianization, however, did shift the cultural perspectives, as monks had supplanted druids, and churches were built instead of henges and dolmens. It is reasonable to assume the sense of national unity within these places was a direct result of the threat from outside, as opposed to being something that existed with such fervor in ancient times.

The term “Celt,” used as an encompassing ethnic label, only appeared in the 16th century in George Buchanan’s Rerum scoticarum historia. And it was only in 1707 that Linguistic unity was identified when Edward Lhwyd published his Archæologia Britannica, in which he noted the similarities between Celtic languages.

By the late 18th century, the concepts of Celtic and Germanic had become significantly distinct. National identity was becoming a major issue and a driving force behind political desires. Heated debates erupted as people argued over, as historian Ian Stewart put it, “prestigious ancestors whose legacy was up for grabs.”

Thus, the notion of an ancient national unity remained unfounded. However, there were linguistic and cultural links that provided a foundation for modern Celtic unity.

The Role of Religion

Instead of being a juggernaut wiping out all traces of former religion and replacing the culture, Christianity was actually the vector through which much of the ancient Celtic culture was preserved, especially in Ireland and Wales. Manuscripts from as early as the 7th century AD speak of the ancient myths, but noticeably through the lens of Christianity rather than through adherents to the old beliefs.

Nevertheless, the tales were preserved, as were the sites, which Christians adopted and adapted to serve their own religious purposes. Churches were built on these sites, indicating a recognition of their religious significance. The dynamic was one of a blending of cultures, exemplified by the Celtic Cross, which fuses the symbol of Christianity and Celtic knot symbolism. With the circle and the decorative elements added to the traditional Christian cross, there is a certain visual syncretism between the old and the new(er) religions.

The Problem With Art

Much of what is associated with the Celtic art style has its roots (arguably) in the La Tène culture, which flourished from around 450 BC to 25 BC. While this style spread across Europe, the movement of an art style doesn’t necessarily mean the movement of people. Contact between people can mean the adoption of cultural facets. Thus, the spreading of art can be inter-ethnic.

For a long time, it was assumed that the spread of this style of art to the British Isles was a result of invasions, but there has been little archaeological evidence of this. More plausible scenarios for the diffusion of artistic styles include cross-cultural contact, such as in the form of trade, and other peaceful meetings. Later La Tène styles in Britain are conspicuously absent on the continent, indicating a separate cultural evolution.

Meanwhile, the archaeology of ancient Britain suggests a patchwork of regional societies with distinct identities. This entrenches the notion that Celtic identity was not uniform. DNA studies on the matter are still debated and have yet to yield conclusive insight into the notion of unified Celtic identity.

Constructing Celtic Identity in the Modern Era

In the 19th century, a Celtic revival gained traction. Spurred on by archaeological and linguistic discoveries, new national identities took hold. Artists and writers sought out old myths and legends, re-presenting them to Irish and British society. This interdisciplinary movement served as a powerful catalyst for ideas of cultural unity.

In non-English areas of the British Isles, there was a certain amount of positive reception, shaped in part due to tensions brought about by English dominance. The reasons for the responses were, however, varied in differing regions and social contexts. It was not uniform. And neither was it universally embraced.

Of note are nationalist movements, which often drew on, and still do draw on, ancient Celtic symbolism, such as the triskelion, which is emblazoned on the flag of the Isle of Man, and which features prominently in Breton nationalism. It is also a popular symbol in other Celtic polities. On the right side of the political spectrum, white nationalists have also co-opted the Celtic cross as a symbol in lieu of the swastika, raising a lot of concerns and leading to the ban of the symbol in certain contexts in Italy and Germany.

The idea of identity being linked to race had its roots in the 19th century. Whereas before, debates on Celtic identity focused on culture and language. Ethnologist James Cowles Prichard, in his The Eastern Origin of the Celtic Nations, published in 1831, used linguistic evidence as proof of racial kindred. Such notions entrenched ideas of Celtic unity by way of blood.

The dynamic of a renewed Celtic identity is attested to by author Caomhín De Barra, who notes that in Irish newspapers in the early 19th century, the word “Celtic” was virtually nonexistent, but by the end of the century, it was in frequent use. This was the direct result of a scientific basis of race being linked to culture and language.

What Does “Celt” Mean Today?

In academia today, the term “Celt” is generally used to describe a speaker of the Celtic languages, but from a non-academic sense, the word has a wider meaning, and is also used from a racial perspective, denoting people from the Celtic nations and those who identify with Celtic heritage.

There are six such nations, only one of which, Ireland, is completely independent. Scotland and Wales exist as part of the United Kingdom. The Isle of Man is a self-governing crown dependency of the United Kingdom, while Cornwall is an English county. On the continent, Brittany forms a part of France.

The term “Celtic” can be used to describe many aspects of the cultures of these places, even if that aspect is not strictly related to the ancient Celts. Thus, the continuation of Celtic identity today draws on re-envisioned ideas as well as ancient fact, myth, and legend.

Trying to define the ancient Celts is a messy endeavor that yields poor results for those who prefer neat categorizations. The real Celts in ancient times were a varied mix of cultures that were often in competition with each other, and certainly did not represent a single pan-Celtic identity.

Nevertheless, modern Celtic identity remains valid in that it is rooted in languages and cultures that, although evolved over time, are directly related to ancient Celtic practices. Thus, the important debate for historians to tackle in this context is not who the Celts were exactly, but how cultural continuity over the course of millennia is understood.

Often described as a world parallel to our own or as a place far beyond the bounds of the mortal realm, the Celtic Otherworld has many guises. It is a place of mists and mystery, and a home to gods and strange creatures from mythic fantasy.

Existing as a concept across Welsh, Irish, and Scottish traditions, the Otherworld is associated with the supernatural and encompasses both malevolent and benevolent forces. The duality of the Otherworld is as a realm of death as well as eternal life, youth, and beauty.

Herein lie the seductive and terrifying aspects of this fabled domain.

The Otherworlds and Their Names

The ancient Celts did not represent a unified group. They had different societies, languages, and cultures. Reflecting their diversity were the various beliefs surrounding the concept of the Otherworld.

In Irish, Scottish, and Manx mythology, Tìr na nÒg (Tìr nan Òg—Scottish, Cheer nyn Aeg—Manx) was an island paradise of eternal youth inhabited by the Tuatha Dé Danann, the ancient gods. The source of the gods’ eternal youth is the feast of Goibniu, a banquet held by Goibniu, the god of smithing, also associated with hospitality. The island is a joyful and wondrous place of abundance, full of poetry, music, and entertainment. Spoken of in various Irish tales, Tìr na nÒg can be reached through magical entrances found in burial mounds and caves.

Irish myth also speaks of a place known as Mag Mell, the Plain of Honey, which may be another name for Tìr na nÒg. It was believed to be located far to the west of Ireland, possibly under the ocean. Similar to Elysium in Greek mythology, it is inhabited by the souls of those who achieved glory in life.

In Welsh mythology, the Otherworld is known as Annwn, and like its other Celtic analogs, it is a place of youth and abundance that exists either as an island in the ocean or under the earth. The name may be derived from ande-dubnos, a Gallo-Brittonic name which literally means “underworld.” Later Welsh tradition also speaks of an Otherworld place called Avalon, an island to which the wounded King Arthur was taken after his injuries at the Battle of Camlann.

Meanwhile, the Celts in France had their own beliefs. Procopius of Byzantium stated that the Continental Celts believed that the souls of the dead gathered in northwestern Gaul before they were ferried to the afterlife, which lay to the west of the British Isles. Breton folklore still refers to this ghostly procession of boats as Bag an Noz.

Fairies, Fae, and Powerful Gods

In Irish mythology, the Otherworld is inhabited by a host of supernatural creatures, among which are the Tuatha Dé Danann, the ancient race of gods who were believed to be the first inhabitants of Ireland, and who were displaced by mortals. Their enemies are the Fomorians, a race of supernatural, monstrous beings who were also enemies of Ireland’s first human settlers, named in the texts as the Milesians. The Tuatha Dé Danann’s war with the Fomorians has analogies in other cultures, such as the war between the Aesir and the Vanir in Norse mythology, and the war between the Olympians and the Titans in Greek mythology. Thus, the concept of a war between groups of godlike rulers is a common theme found across cultures.

Nevertheless, after their displacement by the Milesians, the Tuatha Dé Danann retreated into the sídhe—fairy mounds, or hollow hills that served as entrances to the Otherworld. In the modern era of Celtic Revivalism to the present, “sídhe” has been conflated with the mounds and the fairies who live within. The latter definition is a modern invention, while in older texts, “sídhe” refers only to the places where the otherworldly beings reside. These could be anything from simple residences to grand palaces.

They are also the dwelling places of the aos sí or áes sídhe (folk of the sídhe), a race of supernatural beings similar to the elves of Germanic folklore. They were viewed as earthly gods, and according to the 8th-century Fiacc’s Hymn, they were adored by mortals.

The supernatural beings of the Otherworld were certainly not confined there, and there are many mythic tales of such beings interacting with people from the mortal realm. A major example in the Irish legends is that of the hero Cú Chulainn, who encounters many gods throughout his adventures, including Lugh, his divine father (although Cú Chulainn is still a mortal), and all three forms of the Morrígan.

The Lure of Paradise and the Divine

For the ordinary Celtic people of the ancient past, a belief in an Otherworld of eternal abundance, joy, and beauty was a reflection of hopes and dreams. It existed in stark contrast to the brutal and often very short lives of people who lived in a tumultuous and challenging time. The desire for freedom from suffering and death was (and still is) a primary driver in the creation of such mythical realms.

An exemplar of this is the tale of Oisín and his journey to Tír na nÓg with Niamh as recounted in the Fenian Cycle. In this story, Oisin, a member of the Fianna (and son of Finn MacCool), a band of legendary warriors, meets a beautiful woman named Niamh, who claims to be of the Tuatha Dé Danann in the land of Tír na nÓg. He goes with her and spends three years in the mystical realm, surrounded by paradise, but he longs to visit his home once again and tell his father of his experiences. Niamh warns him that if he goes, then he must not touch the ground or he will not be able to re-enter Tír na nÓg. Unfortunately, Oisin falls off his horse while in Ireland. Not only can he not return to Tír na nÓg, but 300 years have passed in his absence, and everyone he knew has died.

The dark end to this tale hints at what lies beneath the shimmering surface of the otherworld. Paradise came at a cost, and it was never something wholly benevolent. Celtic imagination provided light and darkness.

Hopes and dreams weren’t the only things reflected in the beliefs of the Otherworld. Fear also played a role, and it shaped darker aspects of the supernatural realm.

Darker Sides and Cautionary Tales

The tale of Oisín and Niamh is one that shows the dangers associated with the Otherworld. It is not the only such tale in Irish legend. In The Voyage of Bran, the eponymous character sets out with his crew to find the land of Emain, a land populated by women. They reach their destination and spend a year there, but one of the crewmen, Nechtán mac Collbrain, wishes to return home.

They sail back to Ireland, but when Nechtán mac Collbrain sets foot on shore, he is immediately turned to ash. The rest of the crew survives, only to realize 100 years have passed in Ireland, and it is no longer the home they knew. Unable to return to their former home, they set out to sea, never to be seen again. These two stories illustrate the danger of the Otherworld in that once it is reached, returning home is impossible.

Apart from the geographic and temporal dangers, the Otherworld inhabitants are not always benevolent. Fairies were believed to abduct people and replace them with changelings—facsimiles of the abductee. This belief had real-world consequences in 1895 when a woman was tortured to death by her family, who believed she was a changeling.

In the story of Étaín and Midir, Étaín is a mortal woman and the target of the affection of Midir, who is of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Midir, however, is already married to Fúamnach, who is consumed with jealousy and turns Étaín into a pool of water, which dries up and turns into a worm (or a snake in some versions), which then transforms into a scarlet fly. Midir doesn’t know the fly is Étaín, yet falls in love with the creature anyway, prompting more jealousy from Fúamnach, who calls up a buffeting wind to blow Étaín away. Étaín is prevented from alighting for seven years by the wind. She falls into the hands of Óengus mac Óg, who keeps her safe. Midir rescues her, but once again, she is taken by the wind. Eventually, she lands in a cup of wine, gets swallowed by a woman, and is then reborn, many centuries after her first birth.

With no knowledge of her past life, she marries a mortal man, and Midir tries to win her back, returning her memories in the end.

These are just a fraction of the stories contained in the annals of Irish history. Many more exist, weaving tales of delight as well as suffering brought about by contact with the divine.

While there may always be the human desire for immortality, the Otherworld exists as lessons in finding the meaning in mortality, the safety of home, the dangers of the unknown, and the price of transcendence. Paradise isn’t always a paradise. It is a burden, and discovering it brings grave consequences.

Nevertheless, the Otherworld continues to exist in the imagination as a place of beauty and wonder. From the ancient myths to modern realizations in film and fantasy, it has found a precious place, entrenched in the consciousness of pop culture.

The belief that base metals, such as lead, can be transmuted into noble metals, such as gold, is the central principle of alchemy. This idea underlies a broader philosophy that seeks both physical and spiritual transmutation. While alchemy emerged independently in various parts of the world, including China and India, Western alchemy has its origins in Hellenistic Egypt. Here, Egyptian metallurgy practices and religious beliefs merged with Hellenistic philosophy, giving birth to alchemy as both a technical and spiritual practice.

Ancient Egyptian Metallurgy

Experimenting with how one thing can be transformed into another is human nature, and chemical transformations are as old as the discovery of fire, at least 200,000 years ago. Fire was used to harden wood, to turn soft earthen clay into hard baked clay, and grain into bread. Mankind soon discovered that metals could be heated and shaped into new and beautiful objects, and that some metals could be combined, such as tin and copper, to make new metals, ushering in the Bronze Age.

The ancient Egyptians were experts in metallurgy, and metals, especially gold, gained an important place in their culture. Gold, called nebu, with its incorruptible shine, was revered as divine. It was considered the flesh of the gods, particularly the sun god Ra, and a sacred substance. The Egyptians used gold to create images of their gods and adorn their temples, and also to make funerary objects and amulets, believing its magical properties could provide protection both in this life and the next.

Skilled artisans worked with gold in workshops overseen by priests. The artisans made images of the gods, and priests conducted prayers and rituals such as the Opening of the Mouth ceremony, which invited part of the god into the statue, making it a living conduit through which people could commune with the divine. The same ceremony was used for funerary images of the pharaoh, allowing his ka to occupy images of him within his tomb. This mix of the technical and the religious was to be expected in a world where religious beliefs permeated every aspect of life.

Egyptian metallurgists also knew that chemicals could be applied to metal to change its character. For example, they would alloy gold with copper or electrum to give it a red or yellow hue. They would also coat some objects in red mercuric sulfide to achieve a brighter red. We know that they experimented with chemical treatments involving sulfur, arsenic, and mercury vapors. Logically, it was only a small step from this superficial transformation of metals to a complete transmutation. That this process would involve both technical and religious aspects was assumed.

Hellenistic Ideas in Egypt

When Alexander the Great conquered Egypt at the end of the 4th century BC, it became part of the Hellenistic world. It soon became the domain of one of Alexander’s generals, Ptolemy, and he established the Ptolemaic dynasty of pharaohs. He brought members of the Hellenistic elite to Egypt, establishing Alexandria as a new Hellenistic capital, and they brought with them Hellenistic ideas. Greek and Egyptian ideas quickly intertwined, and Egypt, especially Alexandria, became an academic and cultural capital. In this unique cultural environment, the underlying philosophy of alchemy emerged.

The Hellenes brought with them the ideas of Aristotle, including his theory of matter. He suggests that there are four elements (earth, air, fire, and water) and four qualities (warm, cold, moist, and dry), and that all things are composed of a different balance of these elements and qualities. If that is the case, it is logical that one thing could be broken down into its constituent parts and reformed as another.

Plato added the idea that all things are connected within materia prima, the first element from which everything comes. If all things come from the same place and are composed of the same elements, again, it was logical that one substance could be broken down and reconstituted as another. He also suggested that the physical world is a living entity with a soul, the anima mundi, and that the souls of all things, men and metals, emanated from this great soul. This suggests that transmutation can be both physical and spiritual.

This idea was extended by Neoplatonists, who called this great soul “the One” and suggested that it was all things good. They suggested that matter was the polar opposite and was all things that lacked goodness. Within the developing beliefs around alchemy, this led to the idea that base metals could be purified and transmuted into gold, which they considered the most perfect metal. The soul could also be purified to reunite with the One, granting immortality.

Hermes Trismegistus

Looking to give their ideas weight by anchoring them in antiquity, as was common in the ancient world, the figure of Hermes Trismegistus emerged. The figure of Hermes Trismegistus emerged, a syncretic combination of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth. This new figure was considered a god and sometimes a human sage who lived at the height of the Egyptian Old Kingdom.

This mysterious figure was said to have written the Hermetica, a collection of what were claimed to be ancient philosophical treatises, but were probably written between 100 and 300 AD. The most famous text within the collection, the Emerald Tablet, summarizes the philosophy “as above, so below,” encapsulating the idea that patterns and processes in one realm of existence are mirrored throughout other levels of reality. This underlies beliefs such as astrology, that the celestial bodies above reflect energy in the world below.

Astrology and alchemy went hand in hand from the very beginning. Alchemists used astrological timings and planetary correspondences as part of their transmutation rituals. They even linked the planets with specific metals. For example, the Sun was gold, the Moon was silver, and Saturn was lead.

The Hermetica also contained practical texts on subjects including alchemy. This suggested that transmutation was possible through conscious intention and ritual action. This could manifest in turning base metals into gold, or “gnosis” of the spirit to reunite with the divine. This also became one of the foundational principles behind Gnosticism.

Zosimus of Panopolis

While it seems clear that alchemy had emerged in Egypt by around the year 100 AD, the first identifiable historical person whose writings on alchemy have survived was Zosimus. To distinguish him from the early 6th-century Greek historian from Constantinople also known as Zosimus, he is called Zosimus of Panopolis, as it is likely that he was from Panopolis, now Akhmim, in Egypt. He lived in the bustling intellectual capital of Roman Egypt, Alexandria, around the year 300 AD.

Zosimus was certainly one of the first alchemists to publish alchemical ideas under his own name, rather than adopt a pseudonym. What we know about his life is gleaned from his writings. He is believed to have authored 28 books on alchemy that summarized the history of Greco-Roman alchemy and the writings of others. Fragments amounting to about 175 pages survive in Arabic and Syriac manuscripts dating to the 10th to 15th centuries. While this is only a fragment of what he wrote, its survival means that his voice looms large in all later alchemy.

Zosimus is credited by many with being the first to portray alchemy in a soteriological manner, providing a pathway to salvation for the human soul. While he was drawing on earlier analogies between metallic and spiritual purification, he may have been the first to represent them as a unified practice. He was also the first recorded person to introduce the idea of the Philosopher’s Stone, which he described as divine water that could be used both to transmute metals and as an elixir of life.

Zosimus was likely a priest in a local Egyptian temple. He seems to have been involved in making images of the gods. While he may not have been responsible for the design and casting, he was well-versed in the process and probably conducted the related religious rites. At the time, priests only worked part-time, and many had second jobs as teachers. Zosimus’ writings suggest that he taught alchemy. In his work, he criticized competing alchemists, claiming that their techniques were inferior to his own because they were unnatural. This suggests that there was a relatively competitive alchemical market in Alexandria at the time.

Knowledge Lost

Despite the thriving alchemical market in Alexandria around the year 300 AD, much knowledge about alchemy in the ancient world has been lost, at least in part due to Diocletian (r. 284-305 AD). The Roman emperor was concerned about the debasement of the currency and the potential role of alchemists in developing false currencies. Therefore, he banned the practice and then burned the library in Alexandria.

This prohibition on alchemy is also probably part of the reason why Zosimus and other alchemists tended to write in code and use obscure symbols in their work. Zosimus hid some of his alchemical knowledge in descriptions of visions and dreams, and in allegory. That means that even when works survive, their content is not always clear. Zosimus may also have been trying to hide trade secrets from his competitors. Whatever his reasons, codes and secrecy became an essential part of alchemy.

More knowledge was lost when Egypt was taken by the Arabs in the 7th century AD, and alchemy disappeared from European scholarship. But the Arabs embraced alchemy and continued to develop the art. In fact, the term alchemy comes from the Arabic “al” and “kimiya,” which comes from the Greek “chyma,” metal casting. Important works on alchemy were written in the following centuries by the likes of Jabir ibn Hayyan (Geber) and Abu Bakr al-Razi. Their texts were then translated into Latin, bringing alchemy back to Europe.

Alchemy Returns to Europe

The rise of alchemy in medieval Europe is often dated specifically to 1144, when Robert Chester completed his translation of the Liber de Compositione Alchemiae from the Arabic by Khalid ibn Yazid. This opened a door into alchemy, and many more works were translated by important names such as Albertus Magnus and Roger Bacon. The Christian world was able to embrace alchemy thanks to the idea that the human soul divided itself at the fall of Adam, and that reforming would unite it with God. This aligned with alchemy’s aim of spiritual purification.

Alchemy was embraced among occult practices from around the 15th century. Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535) claimed that alchemy was a form of natural magic, separate from celestial and ceremonial magic. John Dee (1527-1608), a prominent figure at Queen Elizabeth I’s court, compiled a vast alchemical library and claimed that alchemy could also be used to communicate with angels.

Alchemy has also always been dogged by fraud, which even Zosimus complained about. Edward Kelly (1555-1597) claimed that he could transmute base metals into gold using a mysterious red powder, but was later imprisoned for failing to produce said gold. Around the same time, self-proclaimed alchemist Honauer was hanged on gilded gallows in Stuttgart, wearing an outfit covered in gold tinsel, also for failing to turn iron into gold.

In the 20th century, Swiss psychologist Carl Jung dedicated himself to the study of alchemy as a metaphor for the unconscious mind. He used alchemical ideas to develop a psychological journey towards wholeness.

Can Lead Be Turned Into Gold?

While often clouded by secret codes, some surviving alchemical texts record very specific recipes and rituals for the transmutation of metals and other substances. One example suggests that buck’s blood can soften glass, which is easily disprovable with experimentation. But this has never dissuaded alchemists, who understood that the world was complex and experiments not easily reproduced. Rather than assume that the recipe was wrong, they might think that they had the wrong time, or the wrong type of blood, or the wrong glass. Therefore, experimentation continued, even though many alchemists noted that, whatever they did with their subject metal, they never had more gold than they had started out with.

Several alchemists have claimed to have successfully transmuted lead into gold over the centuries. Famously, the 14th-century scribe Nicolas Flamel allegedly created the Philosopher’s Stone and produced gold, but these claims only appeared 300 years after his death. Despite several other claims, there is no definitive evidence that lead has ever been turned into gold through alchemy.

However, within the last decade, scientists at CERN finally achieved this ancient goal. Using the Large Hadron Collider, they accelerated lead ions to near light speed, forcing them to interact in such a way that stripped the protons from the lead nuclei, transforming them, momentarily, into microscopic amounts of gold.

As the Sirens sang their irresistible song in Homer’s epic, Odysseus’s ship sailed past. With their ears stopped up with wax, the crew heard nothing. Odysseus, however, was in emotional pain. Tied to the mast, he was subject to the full effect of the Sirens’ music.

Despite his status, he decided to be powerless, but it wasn’t an act of weakness. It was a lesson in self-knowledge and a timeless model for decision-making. So why did Odysseus, the cleverest man in all of Greece, decide to do this?

Circe’s Warning of the Sirens

Critical to surviving Odysseus’ journey was the knowledge he was given before encountering many of the dangers. Odysseus first hears of the Sirens from Circe, who warns him of their treacherous, irresistible song. She describes how they sit in a meadow, while about them are the bones and withered bodies of their victims, drawn in by the Sirens’ beguilements.

In fact, Circe instructs Odysseus exactly how to deal with the Sirens. After surviving the tribulations brought forth by Circe, Odysseus becomes intimate with the enchantress, and she instructs him on the dangers that lie ahead. She tells the hero that to survive the Sirens, he would have to knead wax and have his crew stuff their ears, but if Odysseus wanted to hear the Sirens, he had to instruct his crew to tie him to the mast with ropes with instructions that if he demands his release, they must bind him tighter.

Odysseus leaves Circe’s island and proceeds on his journey, encountering the Sirens and following Circe’s instructions to the letter. The siren song entices Odysseus not with promises of sexual intimacy (despite most artistic depictions), but with knowledge, including that of the future, while their victims are strewn around them, corpses warbled to death.

This suggests that the Sirens’ promises are not hollow. They speak the truth. And their song of knowledge is so enticing that none can escape.

The Psychology of Odysseus’ Decision

“Hubris” is a recurring theme in Greek mythology, and is often misinterpreted in modern analyses. It is usually associated with pride, but older Greek interpretations differ. Aristotle explained that…

“…hubris is a form of slight. Hubris consists in doing or saying things that cause shame to the victim, not in order that anything may happen to you, nor because anything has happened to you, but merely for your own gratification.”

For Odysseus, his hubris is not pride, but his self-indulgent desire for knowledge. He wanted to hear the Siren song and survive. For his crew, wax and ignorance were their defense. For Odysseus, it was a rope.

Following Circe’s instructions, however, he knew exactly what would happen. He knew that once the Sirens were in earshot, his desire would be more powerful than his sense of preservation, yet he chose to listen to the Sirens anyway.

This involved a certain level of “precommitment” to protect himself from his future actions, as he foresaw his own weakness of will.

Precommitment as a Timeless Strategy

Introduced by American economists Thomas Schelling and R.H. Strotz in separate articles, the concept of “precommitment” is a labeled aspect of human psychology in which a person or an organization ensures their future actions do not derail their current preferences.

Norwegian philosopher and political theorist Jon Elster developed his theory of precommitment in 1979, with his work “Ulysses and the Sirens” taking the myth of Odysseus binding himself to the mast as a prime example.

There are many real-world examples of this kind of thinking, whereby we create constraints for ourselves that can’t be overwritten by future noncompliance. In medical and psychological terminology, it is even known as a “Ulysses Contract,” and it manifests in many ways, from putting money away in fixed savings accounts to putting an alarm clock across the room so we have to get up to turn it off. It can also manifest in reliance on others, like surrendering authority to a friend or a partner to police our diet or stop us from smoking when we are trying to quit.

Feeling the need to precommit is not a sign of weakness, but the acceptance of human limitations and the action of a rational mind. Odysseus knew when he was in control and knew when he wouldn’t be in control, and took the necessary actions to mitigate his future self’s lack of willpower.

Why Most People Do the Opposite

While Odysseus had a presence of mind that is not uncommon, he took actions that showed he was more forward-thinking and perhaps less confident in his own abilities than most. Research from the Kellogg School of Management, published in Psychological Science, shows that people generally believe that they have more restraint than they actually do. They succumb to greed and temptation, leading to poor decision-making. Obesity, addictions, and other unhealthy lifestyles are a result of this “restraint bias.”

Professor of Economics and Psychology, George Loewenstein, states that people in a “cold” state will generally miscalculate their preferences and behavior in a “hot” state, and when in a hot state, they will overestimate the stability of their current preferences.

Odysseus thus exists as an outlier, an exception to general human behavior that can be interpreted as putting him above the average person in terms of wisdom, making him a model of a central character and an archetypal hero.

The Deeper Philosophical Layer

The story of how Odysseus navigated through the episode with the Sirens is also one that is open to philosophical interpretations. Despite being bound to the mast, the rope actually represents freedom. The intuitive belief is that limiting options is a reduction of freedom, but there is another interpretation of what freedom actually is, which fits Homer’s narrative perfectly.

Kant argues that doing what you want to do is slavery to the lower self of sense. It is the higher self of intelligence that defines freedom. Freedom here is the ability to decide our own constraints, and that describes Odysseus’ actions in this case. Constraint, thus, is an exercise in freedom, rather than the opposite.

The Stoics echo this sentiment, as Epictetus declares, “He is free who lives as he wills, who is subject neither to compulsion, nor hindrance, nor force, whose choices are unhampered, whose desires attain their end, whose aversions do not fall into what they would avoid… for freedom is not acquired by satisfying yourself with what you desire, but by destroying your desire.”

By taking the decision to tie himself to the mast, Odysseus exercises control over his desire, thus symbolizing Stoic interpretations of freedom.

In many ways, the Sirens, the warnings, and the reactions to them are symbolic of a very real struggle of the human condition. Desire for dangerous things and the destruction they can wreak have been facets of human existence from the very beginning of human evolution.

Overcoming these tribulations is not always down to the strength of will that one possesses in the moment, but rather, having the wisdom to use the rope in advance, willingly binding oneself, knowing that it will protect oneself from the dangers of desire.

We know how the story with Odysseus ends. His wisdom pays off. His aforethought protects him, and he survives the ordeal, having heard the Sirens’ call. The lesson here is that wisdom is not the ability to conquer temptation in the moment, but knowing when to tie yourself to the mast.

Various pagan mystery religions offer gods who, having died, do not stay dead. While most scholars differentiate their “rebirths” from the resurrection of Jesus, the belief that Christ’s return to life is borrowed from mythology remains popular on the Internet. However, when examined, we can see that they differ both in kind and purpose.

Jesus as a Historical Figure

While historians may disagree over Christ’s identity as the Second Person of the Triune Godhead and his divinity, the majority of them agree that Jesus was a real person who existed in the 1st century AD. However, the same cannot be said of the various gods from the many pagan religions practiced at that time. Whether it’s the Egyptian Osiris, the Phoenician Melqart, or the Greek Adonis, there is no evidence that such characters actually existed.

In fact, while the gospels give us a clear picture of who Jesus was and what he did during his life on Earth, information about pagan religions is scarce and confusing. Historians have to cobble bits and pieces of material together to arrive at uncertain conclusions.

One reason for the lack of solid information about pagan deities lies in the fact that, as mystery religions, their adherents kept their practices secret, allowing only members of each cult to engage in them with the proviso that they kept their rituals to themselves.

The Golden Bough

In 1896, J.G. Frazer published The Golden Bough, which was one of the first attempts to seriously compare Christ and the dying and rising gods of pagan mystery religions. He surmised that, at the center of every religion, was the idea of a god who was killed and then rose to reign again, a cycle repeated over and over again with the change of seasons. These gods were, therefore, tied in with agriculture. While they spent the winter in a dead state, they would supposedly arise in the spring as grain, for example. Such gods include the Egyptian Osiris and Dionysus, the Greek god of fertility and winemaking. However, their rebirths differ greatly from the resurrection of Jesus, who died only once and rose only once, to atone for the sins of humanity, and not in the form of an agricultural crop.

While pagan gods were mourned because of their demise, there is only triumph in the death and resurrection of Jesus. Pagan gods did not choose to die, unlike Christ, who made a point of stating that nobody took his life. Rather, he chose to give it as recorded in John 10:18: “No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again.”

Definition of Resurrection

When Christians speak of resurrection, they refer to a physical body that dies and is then transformed into a glorified one. It is the same body, but it is raised to be, as the apostle Paul put it in the 15th chapter of his first letter to the Corinthians, “imperishable” and “incorruptible.” In other words, this new body will never get sick, never age, and never die again, as the mortal flesh has become immortal.

Paul explains that it is the same kind of body that the resurrected Christ had, a body that is not merely spiritual, as some suggest, but corporeal. We know this from Jesus’s appearance to the disciples in the Upper Room as he says to them, “See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself; touch me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have” (Luke 24:39).

The purpose of Christ’s death and resurrection is unique in that he died to atone for the sins of humanity and rose from the dead to defeat death itself and provide eternal life for all who accept it in faith, making Christianity a universal religion. None of the localized pagan gods claims anything similar.

Additionally, upon examination, it is clear that Christianity did not borrow its dying and rising god from other religions, as much of the information we have about them dates well after the first century AD. In fact, when we take a look at what the Bible has to say about the uniqueness of Jesus, we see it in the reaction of the philosophers with whom Paul speaks at the marketplace in Athens.

When he tells them about the death and resurrection of Christ, they remark on the “new teaching” that he had presented to them and wanted to know who this “foreign” god about whom he preached was, saying, “You are bringing some strange ideas to our ears, and we would like to know what they mean” (Acts 17:20).

Definition of Reincarnation

Reincarnation, also called rebirth, is not the same as resurrection. To be reincarnated is to be reborn in a new, different body, and not necessarily a human one. A person can, supposedly, return to life as an animal or even an insect. Whether one achieves a better life or a poorer one upon being reincarnated depends on how well one has conducted one’s life. The belief in it stems from Eastern religions such as Hinduism and Buddhism. Reincarnation offers a seemingly never-ending cycle of birth and reincarnation, birth and reincarnation, birth and reincarnation, over and over and over again.

Definition of Resuscitation

Resuscitation can also be called reanimation or revivification. It involves raising a person into life in the old body that had died. This body would still be prone to sickness, would age, and, ultimately, would die again at some point. We see examples of this in the case of Lazarus, whom Christ raised from the dead (John 11:41-44). Other instances include the son of the widow of Nain (Luke 7:14, 15) and Jairus’s daughter (Luke 8:52-55), both brought back to life by Jesus.

Adonis the Beautiful Youth

Like most myths, the story of Adonis appears in several versions. In one, Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, had the young man killed by a wild boar. Aphrodite (known as Venus by the Romans), the Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation, pleaded with the great god Zeus to bring him back to life. Zeus apparently did, although we are not told how, and Adonis then spent half the year in the Underworld and half with Aphrodite.

As with so many pagan gods, Adonis was tied in with the cycle of the season, dying in winter, but coming back to life in the spring. His followers held festivals in his name to encourage his blessing of plenty of rain and successful crops.

Apis and the Cycle of the Bull

Depicted as a bull with a solar disc and a serpent between its horns, Apis was supposedly the incarnation of the god Ptah, and was highly venerated in Egypt. Priests selected a bull for worship based on its physical markings. It had to be black with a white triangular marking on its forehead as well as a white marking on its back that looked like the wings of a hawk, a white crescent on its side, and a lump under its tongue that resembled a scarab.

If, after 25 years, the bull was still alive, the priests would kill it. The followers of Apis believed that, in death, the animal merged with Osiris, the god of the Underworld, and rebirth, becoming Osirapis. The priests would find a new calf with the requisite markings as the next incarnation of Ptah, in which the eternal spirit of the previous bull would live on.

For the Egyptians, the death of the bull and the rebirth of the spirit in another bovine symbolized their own death and renewal as they saw the afterlife as a continuation of existence, only on a different plane.

Attis, God of Vegetation

Attis was a vegetation god, a product of Asia Minor (modern-day Turkey). He was, apparently, comely in appearance. Agdistis, originally a hermaphrodite who accidentally castrated himself, became Cybele and fell in love with Attis. At the wedding of Attis to the daughter of a king, Cybele appeared and, somehow, in the midst of it all, Attis went mad, castrated himself, and bled to death under a pine tree.

There are multiple versions of Attis’s life and death, but all include the element of castration and, somehow, out of all of it, came the idea that Attis was resurrected at springtime, thereby symbolizing the return of life to the Earth. Worship of him was supposedly to ensure good crops for his followers. While Attis is considered a dying and rising god, information about just how his rebirth came about is unclear.

Dionysus, God of Fertility, Wine, and Much More

There are multiple versions of how Dionysus, the god of wine, winemaking, grape cultivation, fertility, ritual madness, theater, and religious ecstasy, came to die and was resurrected. One story has the Titans killing him and ripping him apart as an infant. His heart is saved, and Semele makes a potion of it and drinks it. Then one of her lovers begets Dionysus, to whom she gives birth.

A second version of the tale suggests that Semele is incinerated in the presence of Zeus, who saved Dionysus by ripping him from her womb before she burned to ashes. He then sewed the baby into his thigh, where he grew to manhood, at which point Zeus “gave birth” to him.

Another version suggests that Zeus swallowed the beating heart of the infant upon his dismemberment by the Titans and then gave birth to the baby through his thigh. And yet another telling of the myth suggests that Zeus put the full-grown Dionysus back together again, rather like Humpty Dumpty, only with greater success, following a battle in which Dionysus was hacked to pieces.

Melqart, God of Tyre

Melqart was particularly popular in the Phoenician city of Tyre, where he was called the King of Tyre. The Greeks referred to him as Herakles or Hercules. As with other pagan deities, there are many versions of his life, death, and rebirth. In the Roman version, he set himself on fire to burn away the human parts of him, but died in the process. Another version says the monster Typhon killed him.

As to his rising from the dead, we have no information about the process, but his followers held an awakening festival each spring to re-enact his supposed rebirth. They made sacrifices of both animals and humans to him. As with the other pagan dying and rising gods, he was tied to the people’s agricultural activities, and his death and rebirth were cyclical according to the seasons.

Osiris, God of the Underworld

According to one version of this myth, Set (also called Seth), the brother of Osiris, kills and dismembers him, flinging the various parts throughout Egypt. His wife, Isis, gathers the bits of him and puts them back together magically.

Another variation suggests that Isis buried all the pieces of him except his phallus, the saving of which supposedly represents his rebirth. Either way, Osiris could not return to life on Earth, but became the king of the Underworld. While he was the god of the dead, he also represented a life-giving fertility god, linked with the cycle of the seasonal “rebirths and deaths.”

Persephone, Queen of the Underworld

Hades, king of the Underworld, kidnapped Persephone while she was picking flowers and took her to his domain. Because her mother, Demeter, became distraught over the loss of her daughter, she neglected her role as a goddess of vegetation, and a drought ensued. In response, Zeus ordered Hades to return Persephone to her mother.

If someone ate or drank anything in the netherworld, that person could not return to life. Unfortunately, Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds, which precluded her from returning to her mother full-time. She could only spend six months with Demeter and had to return to Hades for six months of the year—the winter months, of course, when the earth lay dormant. Once again, we see the “dying and rising” of a god connected to the changes of season and planting, and harvesting.

Conclusion

While pagan myths offer dying and rising gods, it is clear that their so-called rebirths are not the same as the resurrection of Jesus. Any resemblance is superficial while the differences are profound.

Sumer is one of the world’s most ancient civilizations, beginning to flourish in the Fertile Crescent between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers around 4500 BC, and developing the world’s first known writing system around 2900 BC. Our understanding of Sumerian mythology is less comprehensive than that of other ancient civilizations, such as the Egyptians and Greeks, because surviving texts are mostly fragmentary, and until recently, largely untranslated. Nevertheless, from what does survive, we can see that Sumerian mythology influenced neighboring mythologies, with strong parallels to the Egyptian creation myth, the Jewish conception of celestial realms, and Greek ideas of cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Read on to discover six important Sumerian myths, their strong parallels with other mythologies, and their unique elements.

1. Sumerian Creation Myth

The Sumerian creation myth, principally recorded on the Eridu Genesis Tablet (c. 1600 BC), bears a striking resemblance to the Egyptian creation myth featuring the Ennead of Heliopolis. This features Atum emerging from the primordial waters of Nun and creating Shu (air) and Tefnut (moisture), who create Geb (earth) and Nut (sky), before they give birth to the more anthropomorphic gods that rule the realm between the earth and the sky.

The Sumerian myth starts with Nammu, the personification of the primordial waters that existed at the beginning of time. The sun god Utu emerged from the waters, and together they gave birth to the sky god An and the earth goddess Ki. They, in turn, mated and gave birth to Enlil, the god of wind, rain, and storms. He separated the sky and the earth and claimed this mortal world as his own.

The Sumerians envisioned this newly created earth as a dome surrounded by the primordial sea. Underneath Ki at the bottom was the underworld called Kur and a freshwater ocean called Abzu. All the dead found themselves in Kur regardless of their actions or status in life. The dome above was envisioned as several heavenly realms, usually three or seven, that were exclusively the domain of the divine. The lowest realm was the domain of the stars. The middle realm was the domain of the Igigi, who were divine creatures who found themselves replaced by man, kind of like fallen angels. The outermost realm was that of An.

This idea of multiple celestial realms occupied by different orders of divine beings is a common theme in religions from the Near East. In early Judaism, there are several celestial realms described in Talmudic texts, and the same idea shows up in early Christianity, for example, in Gnosticism.

2. Enki and the Mother Goddess

Another son of An and Ki was Enki, the god of water and wisdom, and the opposite side of the coin to his brother Enlil. While Enlil was remote and represented cosmic order, Enki was closer to mankind and was kind of a troublemaker, not unlike the Norse god Loki. Much like the Greek god Zeus, Enki was an infamous womanizer.

Within the Sumerian creation myth, we learn of an island called Dilmum, which is pure and clean and is a place where the is no sickness, death, or strife. However, there is also no freshwater, much to the lament of the patron goddess Ninhursag. Enki hears her lament and convinces Utu to bring forth a freshwater spring on the island.

Happy with a job well done, Enki tries to impregnate Ninhursag, but she refuses until he formally proposes marriage. They lie together, and nine days later, she gives birth to Ninsar, “lady of the plants.” She wanders the riverbanks of Dilmum, causing plants to flourish in her footsteps.

Enki catches sight of Ninsar and impregnates her as well, and nine days later she gives birth to Ninkirra, “lady of the mountains.” Enki takes her as well, and she gives birth to Uttu, a spider goddess associated with weaving, much like Arachne in Greek mythology.

Ninhursag warns Uttu to steer clear of Enki, but he manages to seduce her as well, promising her many things, and then disappearing after he impregnates her. But Ninhursag helps Uttu wash Enki’s sperm out of her body, and they plant the seeds in the land. This results in eight magnificent plants.

When Enki encounters the plants, he eats them all, and they start to grow inside his body. As his body is not suitable for giving birth, this causes him enormous pain. Initially, Ninhursag refuses to help Enki, but eventually changes her mind. She gives birth to eight healing goddesses to heal each part of his body.

Each goddess is named for a part of the body. Interestingly, one, Ninti, is named for the ribs, “ti.” Her name can be translated as “lady of the rib,” or “to make live.” Scholars have speculated whether there is a connection between Ninti being made to heal Enki’s rib and Eve being made from Adam’s rib.

3. Making Man in Mesopotamia

Enki was also responsible for the creation of mankind and was considered the master of civilization. According to the myth, it was initially the gods who toiled plowing the fields and dredging the rivers for silt to fertilize the land. They quickly became sick of this work and started complaining.

Enki was encouraged to create servants for the gods to save them from their labors. Aware of the germinating powers of silt, he molded mankind out of clay and silt, gestating them in the womb of Ninhursag, also called Ninmah in this context. The gods were known by multiple names as myths were adopted and adapted by different cities and civilizations. Mankind takes over both the plowing of the fields and worshiping the gods.

Celebrating their success, the gods sit down for a feast. Enki and Ninmah both get quite drunk and boast of their own role in the creation of man. Ninmah boasts that she is responsible for making good men capable of doing the job required, and that if she just made deformed men, Enki would struggle to employ them in his new human civilization. Enki responds that he is clever enough to find a role for any type of man.

A competition ensues. First, Ninmah makes a man with shaking hands. So, Enki makes him the attendant of the king. Next, she makes a blind man, and Enki makes him a singer of tales. Then she makes a man with twisted ankles, and Enki makes him a metal worker. This seems to represent a parallel with the Greek god Hephaestus, who was cast out of Olympus because he was born with a deformity and became the god of blacksmiths.

There are several more rounds of this until Enki decides to make a man on his own, without the help of Ninmah’s womb. He is called “the day was far off,” suggesting that he was born premature. This resulted in several deformities, including shaking hands, an inability to eat, a crushed spine, and deformed feet unable to walk the fields. Ninmah is horrified by the creation and realizes that if she continued to create misshapen men, then men would stop worshiping her. The pair agrees to work together to make men and give them the ability to procreate.

Some stories suggest that Enlil created the tools that men needed to plant and harvest, appointing Enten as the god of farming. Others suggest that it was Enki who created these tools and gave them to the inhabitants living between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. He also appointed gods and goddesses to be responsible for all the important elements of agriculture, including canals and ditches, storehouses, sheepfolds, and more.

Reportedly, once this was done, the goddess Inanna, also known as Ishtar, approached Enki, irritated that he had not given her an area of responsibility. Instead, he made her a warrior goddess with an important role in protecting and empowering kings. She quickly emerged as one of the most important goddesses in the Near East.

4. Rising of the Moon

Enlil and his then future wife Ninlil, the “lady of the wind,” plus her mother Nunbarsegunu, the goddess of barley, are dwelling in their temples of Nippur. Nunbarseguni warns Ninlil not to bathe in a certain canal, because Enlil will see her and want to make love to her. Naturally, Ninlil bathed there, where she was seen by Enlil. He approached her, but she rejected him, saying that she was too young to make love. He rapes her, impregnating her with the moon god Nanna.

The other gods disapproved of Enlil’s actions and banished him from the city, sending him to the underworld. For a reason that is not fully explained, Ninlil follows him. On the road, Enlil pretends to be various underworld gods, first the gatekeeper, then the god of the underworld river, and finally the ferryman. Traveling in front of Ninlil, each time, he convinces Ninlil to sleep with him, and he impregnates her with three other gods. These gods are to descend to the underworld, taking Nanna’s place, so that he can ascend to the heavens.

5. A Flood Myth

Sumerian mythology also has its own version of the flood myth, which is strikingly similar to the Biblical and Greek versions.

According to the story, the goddess Nuntur or Ninmah, the “lady of the womb,” was conscious that the people she created had no place in the world. She decided to teach them how to build cities and proper cult practices. They built five cities, including Eridu, which is sacred to Enki, Badtibira to Dumuzi and Inanna, and Sippar to Utu.

Now living together in cities, humans start making a lot of noise, irritating Enlil, who decides to send a flood to destroy mankind. Much like Prometheus, who warned mankind when Zeus decided to send a flood to kill them, Enki chooses to warn Ziusudra, the pious king of Nippur. He also instructs him how best to build a boat, and to fill it with living creatures to ensure the survival of life. In the version of this myth that is retold in the Epic of Gilgamesh, it is the god Ea who warns a man called Utnapishtim, but otherwise the stories are the same.

After 24 hours of non-stop rain, the world is inundated by a flood that lasts for seven days and nights. But eventually, Utu comes out, and the floodwater recedes. Ziusudra kisses the ground before Utu and makes sacrifices of sheep and oxen, repairing mankind’s relationship with the gods. In the version told in the Epic of Gilgamesh, Utnapishtim was granted eternal life as an apology by the gods.

6. Inanna’s Descent Into the Underworld

The underworld of Kur was ruled by the goddess Ereshkigal, sometimes with her husband, Nergal. Ereshkigal is sometimes described as having been “carried off” to the underworld and later becoming its queen, much like Persephone in Greek myth. As with Greek mythology, there are several stories of descents into the underworld, passing on a journey through seven gates to reach the mysterious land where the dead live on dust. Family members often poured libations at the graves of the dead to give them something to drink in this arid land.

One of the most famous Sumerian myths sees the goddess Inanna descend into the underworld. She is the sister of Ereshkigal and the queen of heaven. She wears her best royal garments and jewelry to descend to the underworld so that she can extend her dominion over the dead.

Before she leaves, Inanna wisely tells her servant Ninshubar that if she does not return in three days, she should enlist the help of Enlil, Nanna, and Enki to retrieve her. Ereshkigal is conscious of her sister’s plans and has the gatekeeper of the underworld, Neti, allow her to pass through each of the gates, but she must sacrifice something at each. At the first gate, she must give her crown, at the second, her measuring rod and line, at the third, a lapis lazuli necklace, at the fourth, her breastplate, then her gold ring, measuring stick, and finally her royal robe.

By the time Inanna reaches Ereshkigal’s throne room, she is naked and vulnerable, stripped of her symbols of power and protection. The judges of the underworld rule against her, and Inanna is transformed into a corpse and hung upon a hook on the wall.

When Inanna does not return after three nights, Ninshubar goes to the other gods. While Enlil and Nanna refuse to help, Enki creates two androgynous beings from the dirt under his fingernails and sends them to the underworld, instructing them not to use force, but to empathize with Ereshkigal, who is apparently in the throes of birth pain or grieving. In gratitude for their empathy, Ereshkigal agrees to give them Inanna’s corpse. They sprinkle the “food of life” on Inanna to resurrect her. This is an interesting contrast with the story of Persephone, in which she eats the food of the underworld, which binds her to it.

Nevertheless, the laws of the underworld dictate that no one can leave without a substitute. Inanna, accompanied by fearsome Galla demons known to drag souls into the underworld, ascends to the land of the living to find someone to take her place. She finds several people but spares them because they are grieving her. But when she finds her consort Dumuzid, seated on his throne and showing no signs of mourning. She chooses him as her replacement. The Galla dragged him into the underworld.

Dumuzid also strikes a compromise to not spend the rest of his life in Kur. With the cooperation of his sister Geshtinnan, they split their time in the underworld, with their exchange reflecting the cyclical nature of the year, again mirroring the story of Persephone in Greek myth.