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Category: Europe

Aquæ Sulis

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Curse tablet

The goddess worshipped at the ancient Roman-British resort Aquæ Sulis was none other than Sulis Minerva, an entity based on the Roman goddess Minerva but having characteristics of the Celtic goddess Sulis. When the Romans happened upon the hot springs there, they naturally thought of Minerva as the one who made hot water bubble forth from the ground, and when they found that the natives regarded Sulis as the keeper of the spring, they saw a chance for religious unity.

Travelers from all over the Roman Empire visited the magnificent baths and the settlement that grew up around them, and many took part in a unique method of prayer to the goddess. Instead of voicing their prayers aloud, they scratched the words upon a flattened piece of lead or pewter, then folding it up and throwing it into the Sacred Spring. Although one has been found written in the British Celtic language, most were in Latin. I found this very interesting, but I was shocked when I began reading the prayers themselves. Instead of addressing their goddess with reverence, the prayers were stated in a very straightforward way, in a language that was almost commanding. And more striking than this was that nearly every prayer was a curse. “I curse him who has stolen my hooded cloak, whether man or woman, whether slave or free, that…the goddess Sulis inflict death upon…and not allow him sleep…now and in the future,” such were the inscriptions on these petitions to the goddess.

How could these people be so bold, and so cruel? Perhaps the boldness had to do with the privacy that this medium afforded them. They could be confident that no human eyes would ever read those words (so they thought), and they trusted that Sulis Minerva would read them and deliver the vengeance that they sought. But why such cruelty? We may never know, but I dare say that while we might never dream of praying to our God to curse other people, thoughts of ill-will do cross our minds at times.

The Etruscans

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The Etruscans

The inscription above is the name Seianti, carved on the elaborate stone coffin of the Etruscan noblewoman who bore that name. Seianti Hanunia Tlesnasa was evidently quite wealthy, as the lid of this sarcophagus is adorned with a surprisingly lifelike sculpture of her reclining.

This was only one of the many Etruscan artifacts housed at the British Museum, and the whole Etruscan room held a certain charm for me. Perhaps it is their relative obscurity—everyone knows about the Greeks and Romans, but Etruscans? Who were they? They were the ancient inhabitants of a region of Italy called Etruria, and their civilisation existed in the time before Rome’s domination. They were a non-Indo-European people, and this is known by their language, which was entirely unrelated to the great majority of the other European languages, such as Latin, Greek, and Oscan.

Like the Arabs and Israelis today, the Etruscans wrote their words from right to left, although their alphabet is a predecessor of the Roman one. The language itself is mostly unknown to us today, since nearly all the surviving examples of it are carvings on burial stones. However, what little we do know about the Etruscan language is enough to fascinate me, and make me wish we knew more about the people of Rasna.

(British Museum, London)

Faces of the British Museum

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On more than one occasion at the British Museum, I found myself looking at a piece of art and wondering about the intentions of its creator. Every ancient culture had its own style of portraying humans in art, some more realistic than others—from the blocky, ever-grave Aztecs to the majestic, lively Greeks—but I was most interested in their facial features.

What was the Scandinavian seaman thinking when he carved out of walrus tusk a chess king with a forlorn look as if his son just died? Did the Huastec potter in ancient Mexico intend for his hedgehog-shaped jug with big eyes and tiny mouth to look as if it were flying through the air about hit something? And that Greek harpist on the side of a pot—did the artist who drew her see the same melancholy expression that I see today? There is no way to know, and certainly facial expressions vary between cultures and time periods. However, I like to think that even the great artisans of old had a sense of humour.

The Papal Visit

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As we traveled through Great Britain, it was soon evident that the upcoming papal visit was a hot topic.  Our tour guides commented on it, and from Scotland to England we heard about how the head of the Roman Catholic Church was coming to the United Kingdom by royal invitation for the first time.  The building next to our hotel in London proudly displayed the flag of the Vatican City and was bedecked with yellow and white streamers, and each edition of the London Evening Standard during the time we were there had a story on the pope on the front page.

Of course the event fomented much controversy.  Many objected to the pope’s coming, but the fact remains that he came, and that alone is significant.  Every time I heard or saw an allusion to it, I thought about how Catholics have often been persecuted in Great Britain since the time of Henry VIII, and how ridiculous it would have been in past years for the head of the Catholic Church to set foot in the land where the Church of England held sway.  Such a thing would never have happened, and demonstrates how ecumenical people of all denominations—even traditionally conservative Catholics—have become.  After all, if it doesn’t matter what church you belong to, even once-hostile Anglicans and Catholics can unite.

Codex Alexandrinus

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Codex Alexandrinus

Of the many significant documents on display at the British Library, Codex Alexandrinus does not catch the eye. There are no illuminations, no gold leaf or fancy calligraphy. All that it presents to the viewer is line upon line of uncial Greek text. Nevertheless, to me this document stood out from all the others, both because it was written in Greek, and because of its great significance in New Testament textual criticism. It is remarkable because it contains nearly all of the Septuagint and New Testament, unlike most other surviving Greek texts, and it is quite old, having been written in the fifth century.

The codex was open to the Book of Psalms, and as I read those ancient words of praise to God, I thought about how they were written in a time when Greek was still commonly spoken, and in a time when, perhaps, the scene of “Christianity” was a little less confusing than it is now. I was also struck by the precision of the lines and letters, and it was very evident that the scribe whose hand copied those sacred lines truly had concern for accuracy in regard to the Word of God—something that many people today care little about.