In the opening section of the Metamorphoses, the primary character Lucius is ostensibly traveling to Hypata in Thessaly on a business trip, though in truth he is more interested in the pursuit of magic, for which the town is renowned. On his way there, Lucius hears the tale of a fellow traveler Aristomenes, according to which the people of Hypata are totally inhospitable toward strangers. This view is reinforced when Lucius arrives in the town not long thereafter: he is afforded a lukewarm reception by his host, falls victim to deception, and is turned into a laughing stock by the entire community. The last of these misfortunes occurs in a public celebration known as the Laughter festival, which follows Lucius’ first indirect contact with magic the previous night. After his metamorphosis into an ass and a series of misadventures, the protagonist happens upon Cenchreae, a site dedicated to the worship of Isis. There, he is treated to the warmest of welcomes from devotees of the goddess, who treat him in a kind and humane manner despite his animal form. Lucius’ positive experiences at Cenchreae culminate in his restoration to human form and initiation into the Isis cult.
The marked contrast in the treatment of strangers at Hypata and Cenchreae is in no small part due to the presence of the witches in Hypata, who represent forces of disorder. On the other hand, the worship of Isis at Cenchreae, goddess of ideal love and true knowledge, renders that city kind and hospitable. The arrival of several strangers in Hypata is designed to reveal the inhospitable character of the town, whereas the humane reception of a single newcomer at Cenchreae demonstrates its civilized character. The presence of the witches in Hypata has an effect on the character of the community, making them indifferent and even cruel to outsiders. Their character is set in contrast to Cenchreae, where the true religion of the patron goddess Isis makes people open and friendly to foreigners. Since respect for outsiders is cardinal to Greco-Roman civilization, the remarkable difference in the treatment strangers receive at Hypata and Cenchreae suggests the superiority of the community of Cenchreae over that of Hypata.
The theme of hospitality in Apuleius has received treatment in a number of different contexts. Fernández Contreras (1997, 113–125) documents the theme of Homeric hospitality as found in Lucius’ hospitium relationship with Milo in Book One of the Metamorphoses, in an attempt to show the non-canonical and subversive treatment it receives in the novel’s narrative. Keulen (2007, 49, 399) provides good observations on Milo’s hospitium and that of Callimachus’ Hecale and Victoria Berenices, and of similar scenes in Petronius’ Satyrica. Finally, Vander Poppen (2008, 170–173) has concentrated on a representative pair of hospitium relationships (Milo–Lucius and Isis–Lucius) and how they guide reader interpretations of the protagonist’s moral condition through his rupture of the hospitium pact. This hospitium is set up by Milo as means of evaluating the resolution reached in the novel’s final book: Isis figures as an ideal hostess, although the offer of priesthood by her priest reveals some flaws.
One aspect of the hospitality theme that still remains unexplored is the different way the people of Hypata and Cenchreae as a community react to strangers who come to town, even if they do not enter into a hospitium relationship as happens with Lucius. Lucius’ time in Hypata, the capital of Thessalian magic, is closely aligned with the unfavorable experiences of other strangers, who are likewise exploited by the townsfolk for their own enjoyment. On the other hand, the cultural superiority of Cenchreae is clearly evident in the way its inhabitants behave toward Lucius as an outsider.
The term hospitium defines proper host–guest relations, and involves interaction between people of different cities rather than fellow citizens. The stranger is considered to be under the protection of a god, Zeus Xenios for the Greeks or Jupiter Hospitalis for the Romans. The institution is designed to welcome strangers and integrate them into the local community. This is accomplished through the acceptance of the guest in the house, bathing, clothing, feasting, and the exchange of gifts of hospitality (Herman 1987, 44–72; Herman 1996, 612; also Wagner-Hasel 2005, 511). The host is expected to accompany his guest to court, protect his legal interests, and provide a festive occasion for his stay (Bolchazy 1977, 28–29). He is also expected to facilitate his homecoming by providing resources for travel. The guest must respect and honor his host and family. Betrayal of this hospitium is thought to be an offence against the gods: Herman (1987, 44–72; 1996, 612; cf. Wagner-Hasel 2005, 511) interprets the formalities of hospitium as enactment of a ritual that leads to the creation of a “ritualized friendship,” though Konstan (1999, 36) rightly points out that the term “ritualized friendship” is rather loaded, since there is no evidence that the bond established is solemnly sealed by ritual formalities: individual aspects of hospitium do not necessarily take place in a prescribed manner, as in epic typology, but may vary in tone, details, and sequence. The enactment of the rite may lead to a special bond of stranger–friendship. In Apuleius’ novel, for example, Lucius the ass identifies Milo as his closest relative, when he hears from the robbers’ spy the charge made by the Hypatans of allegedly robbing the house of his host Milo, and defines the act of allegedly robbing his house as parricidium (7.3). The renewal of stranger–friendship bond among guest and host and their families, as pointed out by Konstan (1999, 36), is obviously desirable, but the continuity of the bond is not based on fixed rules. The benefits gained from the renewal of hospitium can be summed up as the return (gratia) that is due for the favors (beneficia) one has received (Konstan 1999, 123). In Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus, the young Pleusicles explicitly states his concern as to whether he will be able to return the extraordinary benefits (gratia 670) he receives from the old Periplectomenus, his paternus hospes.
The institution was practiced by the elite in a context of socio-political expectations: eminent Greek and Romans gained prestige by maintaining extensive ties of hospitium with important figures abroad (Herman 1996, 612; Bolchazy 1977, 33–34). To avoid the risks created by this, the state practiced hospitium publicum, which was modeled on that practiced among individuals and analogous to the Greek proxenia (Herman 1996, 613).
Hospitium was a particularly useful institution in the field of commerce, offering reciprocal advantages for the transport of goods (Wagner-Hasel 2005, 511). When travel became more frequent, decent conduct prescribed that a stranger should find a hospitable environment and should not suffer harm or be expelled from a town, as the norms of civilized behavior demanded. In sum, hospitality was one of the oldest social institutions practiced in both Greek and Roman cultures, and it defined proper behavior toward strangers, while also indicating overall cultural progress.
The imagery of hospitium resonates strongly throughout Apuleius’ novel. Lucius is on the way from Corinth to Hypata, the capital of Thessalian magic, allegedly on a business trip but in truth in order to get acquainted with magic. The protagonist’s strong interest in the occult is presented as pursuit of knowledge, based on the erroneous belief that magic holds the key to understanding the world. At this stage, Lucius is unaware of benevolent magic as represented by Isis, goddess of compassion and wisdom. En route to Hypata, Lucius hears the tale of Aristomenes, according to which strangers do not receive fair treatment in the town.
The first tale goes as follows: a man named Socrates is on his way home, but stops near Larissa in order to watch a famous gladiatorial spectacle. There he falls victim to robbers, who attack him and take all his money (1.7). In his wretched condition, Socrates takes refuge in a nearby inn, which happens to be owned by a powerful witch named Meroe. When she tends to Socrates’ wounds and offers him food and drink, the reader is encouraged to read the encounter as a hospitality scene (1.7). This is particularly so since Socrates does not pay Meroe, as opposed to Aristomenes, who covers the expenses for his accommodation later in the narrative (1.17). Having initially taken good care of Socrates, Meroe takes advantage of him and clearly does not respect his status as stranger: she leads her guest to her bed to satisfy her lust. Moreover, instead of offering him new clothes, she forces him to give her those that the robbers spared him, and even turns him into a slave by forcing him to work as a sack carrier and taking the money he earned from his work.
In the same tale, Aristomenes, another stranger, similarly receives unfavorable treatment in Hypata. The purpose of his journey there is to buy cheese, but he rapidly discovers that a merchant named Lupus has emptied the market. There he comes upon his friend Socrates, who has been reduced to begging in the forum. The care Aristomenes shows toward Socrates makes up for the kind of treatment Meroe provided for her guest when he arrived at her inn in a wretched state: Aristomenes gives his own clothing to Socrates, takes him to the baths and then to an inn where he offers him food and wine, and advises him to get some sleep before leaving the next morning (1.7–1.11). Meroe and her sister Panthia burst into the room and foil Aristomenes’ plans to lead his friend to safety, unwittingly turning him into an accomplice in their crime. Meroe removes Socrates’ heart, while Panthia inserts a sponge into Socrates’ wound, orders it to return to the sea via a river, and assigns Aristomenes the task of burying Socrates once he has died (1.13). The following morning, Aristomenes is surprised to see that Socrates is still alive, and urges him to depart, in the mistaken impression that he is leading his friend to safety, whereas in truth he is working for his undoing. Socrates dies as soon as he bends down to quench his thirst in a river, and the sponge inserted the previous night falls from his wound to return to the sea, as per Panthia’s instructions, and Aristomenes buries his friend when he dies. In his sense of guilt in the death of his friend and his fear for his life from the witches, Aristomenes does not return to his country but relocates to Aetolia, where he remarries. Thus, far from receiving a fair reception as strangers in town, Socrates loses his life, while Aristomenes is prevented from ever returning home after his horrible experience at Hypata.
The notion of disregard for strangers in Hypata is strongly corroborated by Lucius’ experience. Upon his entrance to the town, Lucius seeks information from an aged innkeeper about his host Milo, only to learn that he is very rich but pretends to be poor, an ominous statement that foreshadows Lucius’ misadventures (1.21). When he knocks on Milo’s door, the maid hardly opens the door, seeking first to find out if he carries gold or silver for borrowing money. Thus, Milo makes it clear that he does not pay respect to the rules of hospitium. The maid only opens the door when Milo finds out that his visitor bears a letter of recommendation from his friend Demeas of Corinth. The scene inside the house confirms the innkeeper’s characterization of Milo as a miser: too parsimonious to own anything but basic furniture, he is depicted as sitting on a small bed, with his wife next to his feet in front of an empty table.
After reading Demeas’ letter, Milo invites his guest to accept his hospitality, thus formally receiving him as a guest. The host’s reference to Lucius’ noble status is in line with the view of hospitium relations as a means to boost social status. Having received Lucius as his guest, however, the host’s behavior demonstrates that he pays scant regard to the rules of hospitality. Milo tries to convey to his guest the illusion that he is poor, thereby keeping his obligations to a minimum. He asks his wife to get up, and bids his guest to sit on the floor next to him, claiming that fear of robbers prevents him from having any chairs in the house. This incident mocks the pattern of hospitality scenes in epic, in which the guest is given a seat of honor: in Homer’s Odyssey 7.168–7.176, for example, King Alcinous has Odysseus sit on a silver-studded chair next to him, where his dearest son Laodamas was sitting earlier. Furthermore, in his offer of hospitality to his guest, Milo also makes an allusion to mythology: he invites his noble guest to accept meager hospitality at his hovel, following the paradigm of his father’s namesake Theseus when he entered into Hecale’s hut (1.23). This allusion to myth and associations with Lucius’ father is designed to impose a moral obligation on the guest to accept the offer of hospitality. At the same time, given the host’s great wealth, it mocks the pattern in which a character who is poor offers hospitality to superior guests, as seen in Callimachus’ Hecale (Keulen 2007, 49 and 399, and Vander Poppen 2008, 163–164). Milo’s parsimony forces Lucius to refuse the offer of oil and bathing utensils, on the ground that he always carries them with him. This marks another deviation from the hospitality norm, according to which the host provides all comforts to his guest: thus, in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (8.652–8.654), the poor old couple, Philemon and Baucis, are the only ones in town who admit in their hovel their immortal visitors, Jupiter and Mercury, disguised as peasants, and make arrangements to refresh their feet with warm water in a beech tub. Lucius, who refuses the offer of oil and utensils, may not be viewed as responsible for this deviation from the hospitality norms, since he is only reacting in accordance with the old tavern keeper’s warning about his host (1.21).
Social misconduct toward outsiders further emerges in Lucius’ first walk around town, during which he is tricked by a fishmonger. The very fact that he stops in the market to buy fish for dinner marks a significant departure from the standard norm of hospitium, in which the host is expected to provide for his guest. In the forum, Lucius meets Pythias, an old schoolmate from Athens who has become a market inspector. Pythias sees Lucius’ fish in the basket, asks what he paid for it, and has Lucius show him the merchant from whom he purchased the fish. In rebuking the fishmonger, Pythias chastises merchants for exploiting strangers, and warns him that no travelers will visit the town in the future (1.25). He then orders one of the lictors to trample on Lucius’ fish, and at the same time leaves his friend without food. This instance of fraud in the market evokes Aristomenes, who made his long trip to Hypata to no avail. Pythias’ chastising the fishmonger once more illustrates the disrespect shown by the people of Hypata toward strangers.
On his return home from the baths, Lucius receives an invitation from his host through Photis to join him for dinner, but is unwilling to attend on account of Milo’s stinginess. He only honors the invitation when Milo appears in person and demands that Lucius join him for dinner. At the table, conversation revolves around Demeas, his family, and his slaves, even though Lucius is exhausted from his journey and dispirited following his misadventures in the marketplace. Milo’s nonsensical ramble recalls the epic hospitality scenes in which the host often becomes inquisitive while feasting. For example, during the feast for the stranger Aeneas and his guests at Dido’s palace in the Aeneid, the queen raises question after question to her guest about Troy, after which she begs Aeneas to relate the whole tale of the city and his own wanderings (Aen. 1.750–1.756). Furthermore, as is typical in epic patterns of hospitium, the emphasis falls on the dinner conversation rather than on any description of the fare. However, there is an ironic departure from the epic procedure: unlike the lavish feast Dido offers Aeneas and his men, Milo exhausts his guest with his endless talk, but then sends him to bed on an empty stomach (1.26).
The poor treatment Lucius receives from his host in Hypata is to some extent relieved by the warm reception he receives from his aunt Byrrhaena. On the morning following his arrival, Lucius strolls into town eager to see wondrous things, as he realizes that he is in Hypata, the capital of Thessalian magic. On his walk, he comes across a rich matrona accompanied by an old man and a retinue of slaves. Lucius quickens his steps to come near this rich woman (perhaps because he takes her for a witch). However, both the old man and the woman recognize him as the son of her sister, Salvia. The rich woman invites him stay at her house, or rather to come to his own home (2.3). Her invitation to her nephew makes clear that Byrrhaena pays respect to hospitality norms. This is set in opposition to Milo, who does not initially welcome Lucius into his home and only allows him to enter when he learns that he carries the letter of introduction from Demeas (Vander Poppen 2008, 165–166). Lucius turns down her offer on the grounds that he has already accepted Milo’s hospitium. However, he promises to come to her house as often as possible, without failing his obligations to his host. His turning down Byrrhaena’s offer of hospitium suggests that he has come to town for a reason other than to visit his aunt.
The contrast with Milo is heightened in the ensuing narrative. Byrrhaena’s house is large and opulent, in agreement with her social status, bearing absolutely no relation to Milo’s Spartan hovel. In particular, the atrium with its four Victory statues and the sculptural representation of Diana and Actaeon in the center inspire Lucius’ instant admiration, evoking similar scenes in the epics. For example, Odysseus is immediately impressed on entering Alcinous’ palace in Homer’s Odyssey (7.134; see Reece 1993, 14). Lucius derives pleasure from looking at the artwork, in stark contrast to his reaction when seeing Milo’s home, which is even devoid of chairs (1.23). At this point, Byrrhaena intervenes and informs Lucius that everything he sees belongs to him (2.5). Her response may be read as a restatement of the initial invitation discussed earlier as her relative (2.3). Such a reformulation acquires added importance when Byrrhaena goes on to express her concern at the danger her nephew may be exposed to by staying in the same house as Milo’s wife, Pamphile, who is a powerful witch (2.5). This information is music to Lucius’ ears, who hurries back to Milo’s hovel, delighted to discover that the wonders he sought in town are to be found under his host’s own roof.
Lucius’ decision to stay away from Pamphile complies with the hospitality etiquette, which demands respect for the host’s wife, but is possibly motivated more out of concern that direct contact with such a powerful witch will lead to disaster.2 Even after his hurried departure, Byrrhaena continues to function as an exemplary hostess (Vander Poppen 2008, 166). One day, she sends Lucius a pig, five chickens, and a bottle of wine as gifts of her friendship, xeniola (2.11). Lucius offers Photis the wine, defined as prompter of Venus, with a view of facilitating an erotic encounter with the girl and thus, ultimately, gaining access through her to Pamphile’s magic.
The notion of Hypata as an inhospitable place for strangers is corroborated by Photis’ warning to Lucius to return home early from Byrrhaena’s dinner party, since there is a gang of noble young men that roams the streets, wreaking havoc. In her warning, Photis offers a particularly savage picture of the town: there are corpses all over and the authorities are unable to enforce law and order. Photis further mentions the two main reasons why Lucius is at great risk: his wealth and his status as stranger (2.18). This augments the depiction of the town as an inhospitable, lawless den of thieves and witches.
The depiction of Hypatan society as vulgar and uncivilized is augmented by the account of Byrrhaena’s high-society dinner party (for the symposium atmosphere in the cena, see Zimmerman 2008, 147–149). The entertainment is lavish and serves as an example of the kind of dinner Milo ought to have offered to his noble guest, instead of inviting Lucius to dinner and exhausting him with his talkativeness and sending him off to bed without offering him food (1.26).
Byrrhaena turns to her nephew and asks him about his impression regarding the town. In her own description, Byrrhaena mentions the temples and public buildings that make the town the most attractive destination in the entire province for all types of travelers: businessmen, leisure seekers, and tourists of modest means (2.19). Lucius agrees but also states his fears about witches that do not even leave the dead unharmed (2.20). This reply leads all guests to burst into raucous laughter and turn their attentions to a certain man named Thelyphron, who is sitting alone in the corner (2.20). Like Lucius, Thelyphron is a stranger. The guests’ behavior offends him so much that he rises up to leave, but Byrrhaena insists that he stays, assures him of his safety and urges him to tell his story, as she believes that his tale might be of a strong didactic value for her nephew.
His account offers ample evidence for the disrespect Hypatans show for funeral rites, which they turn into a spectacle, and for the stranger Thelyphron, whose plight they exploit for their own entertainment. In the tale, the elderly uncle of a recently deceased man accuses the widow of having poisoned him for the sake of an adulterer; at this point, the funeral mourners demand that the widow be put to death (2.27). Order is temporarily restored when a priest named Zatchlas reanimates the dead man to question him (2.28), but breaks down once more when the man reveals that his wife indeed poisoned him. As the former couple trades insults, the mourners begin to shout, some demanding the widow’s death and others disregarding the testimony of a corpse (2.29). The crowd bursts into sarcastic laughter, pointing their fingers at the stranger Thelyphron, when the reanimated dead man discloses that witches mutilated his guard during the vigil. The veracity of this testimony is confirmed when Thelyphron touches his nose and ears and discovers that they are wax replacements, which fall off (2.30). The boorish participants at the funeral force the noseless, earless stranger to flee the scene, so as to save himself from further embarrassment (2.30).
The sarcastic laughter of Byrrhaena’s guests at the end of Thelyphron’s tale (2.31) recalls their guffaws when he is introduced (2.20) for the first time, and mirrors the reaction of the crowd toward the mutilated guard during the funeral procession (2.30). This repetition serves to portray the entire community as savage, since their enjoyment is provoked by the plight that has befallen a stranger.
The harshest treatment toward strangers is observed in Lucius’ humiliation during the Laughter festival attended by the community of Hypata as a whole. On his return home from Byrrhaena’s party late at night, Lucius thinks that he sees three robbers trying to break down Milo’s door. Mindful of Photis’ mention of thieves roaming the streets, he pulls out his sword and kills them one by one (2.32), though the robbers are later revealed to be wineskins animated by Pamphile’s magic. The incident sets the context for Lucius’ humiliation in the Laughter festival the following morning, as part of the celebrations in honor of the god Risus (3.1–3.11), an obscure deity the citizens of Hypata honor possibly because it suits their need to ridicule strangers.
On the morning following the attack, town magistrates accompanied by lictors burst into Lucius’ room and arrest him—the authorities find no difficulty in tracking down and apprehending Lucius as an alleged criminal (3.2), even though they are incapable of controlling the gang of noble young men who kill people in the streets (2.18). The magistrates lead Lucius through the city streets to the courts and then on to the theater, while crowds throng the streets jeering at him. In this procession, the people of Hypata treat Lucius the stranger as an animal, as he explicitly states at two specific points (3.2): firstly by reference to the expression hostiis curcumforaneis (“sacrificial animals”), which derives from animal purification language;3 and secondly through use of the term victima in the technical sense of a sacrificial victim—velut quandam victimam (“like a sacrificial victim”).4
Events in the theater follow the procedure of a criminal trial (3.2–3.10). In his speech, the town watchman draws a clear distinction between citizens and strangers, and accuses Lucius of having murdered three civilians. He also demands exemplary punishment of the stranger for his crime, which bears a heavy sentence even if the offender is a citizen (2.3). In his own defense, Lucius confesses to the crime, but presents himself not as a stranger but as a good citizen in the sense that he has entered into ties of hospitium (Vander Poppen 2008, 167–168) and has killed criminals who were trying to force their entry into the house of his host. In the belief that he has won over the judges, he turns his eyes to the crowd only to discover, to his amazement, that everyone has dissolved into laughter, including his host. Such a reaction is inconsistent with Milo’s duties; as host, he would have been expected to defend his guest in the “trial” (3.7; see Vander Poppen 2008, 168–169, for the inadequacy of Milo’s patronage). Lucius’ agony in the mock trial continues until the judges demand that he remove the piece of cloth covering the corpses, at which point Lucius is astounded to discover that he has been victim of a farce and the “robbers” were no more than wineskins (3.9). It emerges that the crowd’s laughter has been brought on by the humiliation of a fellow human being, who is accepted into the community as the guest of Milo, one of their fellow citizens. At the end of the trial, Milo approaches his guest and leads him home through less crowded streets, so as to avoid further ridicule (3.10), but this gesture comes too late, as his guest has already been humiliated in public. One could argue that, through their sarcastic laughter, the citizens of Hypata show piety toward the god of Laughter. However, this strange way of honoring a god depends on ridiculing a stranger, who is ignorant of the rite, and thus runs contrary to the spirit of civilized societies in which elaborate codes of hospitality apply. In that respect, the entire Hypatan community can be regarded as uncivilized and savage.
On the other hand, the worshippers of Isis treat strangers in a very civilized manner. This is reflected in the kind reception the novel’s protagonist receives at Cenchreae, first as an animal and then as a fellow devotee restored to human form. Vander Poppen (2008, 170) has read the entire scene of Lucius’ encounter and relationship with Isis in terms of a hospitium rite, in which the goddess appears as an exemplary hostess. The bathing of Lucius in seawater, his eating of the roses, and the white linen garment he was given to conceal his nudity have all been read in terms of the hospitum pact. Vander Poppen (2008, 173) also recognized a contrast between the hospitium offered by Isis and the servitium of her priesthood, which is read as an indication of the flaws in the hospitium even of the goddess, or at least her earthly representatives. Lucius’ fair reception into the community of Isis may reflect the civilized character of Isis’ religion in the treatment of outsiders at Cenchreae, a site dedicated to Isis, when compared to the unfavorable treatment of strangers at Hypata, where the witches exert their power.
At the end of his wanderings as an ass, Lucius stumbles on the port of Cenchreae, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of Isis, where he bathes in the sea before falling asleep on the beach (10.35). In the middle of the night, he wakes up, sees the full moon rising over the sea, is captivated by the beauty of the place (11.1), and prays for assistance from the moon goddess, later identified as Isis (11.5). The goddess appears in his sleep, promising to offer him release from his troubles the following day in the Ploiaphesia festival (11.5–11.6).
On the morning of the festival, the ass Lucius wakes up from his sleep and sees the people lining the streets full of peaceful joy (11.7), in contrast to the rowdy participants seen earlier in the Laughter festival at Hypata (3.2; for the contrasts between book 11 and books 1–10, see Frangoulidis 2008, 175–203). The ass Lucius sees the head of the procession in honor of the great goddess, and enters in it at a slow pace in order not to cause any disturbance (11.12). This contrasts with the circumstances in the Laughter festival, where the magistrates and lictors violently burst into Lucius’ room, arrested him, and dragged him through the city streets (3.2). Moreover, the community of Isis worshippers does not shy away in disgust as the ass tries to enter the procession, but kindly make room for him (11.12). Again, their behavior lies in marked contrast to the people of Hypata, who mock Lucius as the lictors lead him like a sacrificial animal through the city streets, first to court and then to the theater (3.2). These contrasts underline the fact that the brutish crowd at Hypata treats human beings as if they were animals, whereas at Cenchreae the opposite is true.
In the Ploiaphesia procession, the ass recognizes the priest carrying the wreath promised by the goddess in his vision the previous night. He approaches, eats the roses, and regains human form (11.12). The priest orders that the newly reformed Lucius be given a white linen garment to conceal his nudity (11.14). The cloth may also be seen as symbolizing the purity of Lucius’ new condition, following his metaphorical rebirth from animal to man in front of the crowd (11.13). The people express their awe at his transformation and offer up prayers of thanks to the goddess for the miracle, and their reaction contrasts with that of the raucous crowds in the theater at Hypata, who humiliate Lucius, reducing him to little more than the status of an animal in a public spectacle.
In his speech following the reformation, Mithras the priest encourages Lucius to enter the procession and dedicate himself to Isis’ service, characterized as servitium; this offer of priesthood will lead to the libertas of his soul (11.15). Mithras’ speech recalls the magistrates at Hypata, who formally announced the town’s offer to make Lucius patron of their city and cast a bronze statue of him, in recognition of his contribution to celebrations in honor of their god of Laughter (3.11). Unsurprisingly, on that occasion, Lucius turned down the honors, as they would only have served as a reminder of his role as a fool in the festival. On the other hand, at the Ploiaphesia festival, Lucius accepts the priest’s offer, which will grant him release from his troubles and offer him the prospect of a happy life under the protection of Isis.
In the ensuing procession, the worshipers of Isis point at Lucius in awe and glorify him for receiving the blessings of the goddess and becoming man again in their presence (11.16). This brings to mind the people of Hypata, who sneered at Lucius as he returned with Milo from the baths (3.12). The worshippers of Isis share in Lucius’ joy at his reformation, whereas the people of Hypata laughed at him for playing the fool in the festival.
Lucius’ gradual integration into Isis’ community takes the form of initiation into her rites, and his yearning to draw closer to the goddess parallels his earlier strong desire to gain access to witchcraft through Photis (3.22). When Lucius receives a clear sign from the goddess, he undergoes initiation and becomes Isis’ priest (11.23–11.24). Through this process, he is reborn, renatus, unlike his contact with Photis’ magic, which led to his metamorphosis into an ass (3.24). It is at this point that Lucius acquires the full knowledge and wisdom he initially sought to obtain through his erroneous belief that magic held the key to understanding the world (Donovan 2008, 165).
Following his initiation into priesthood, Lucius receives instructions from the goddess to travel to Rome where he goes through two further initiations into the cult: one to the cult of Osiris and one to that of Isis. So initiations into the Isiac cult are only two. The alleged third initiation into the cult of Isis, which takes place at Rome, essentially repeats the first which has already taken place at Cenchreae—in his haste to obey to the goddess’s command and go to Rome, Lucius has forgotten his attire at Cenchreae, and thus cannot offer his service to the goddess without the proper outfit. Following the completion of both initiations, Lucius enters the college of the pastophoroi and becomes a famous orator, earning both fame and money (11.30). The religious and social advancement of the stranger Lucius in Rome sheds further light on the civilized nature of Isis’ religion, which holds the promise of advancement for her devotees. As Lucius is only too well aware, his previous involvement with magic held no more than the promise of isolation and social death via metamorphosis into an ass.
At this point, it is worth considering what makes the citizens of Hypata harsh toward outsiders, and what leads the worshippers of Isis to show kindness toward others. The difference between the two places is best explained in terms of the negative magic dominating Hypata and the true religion of Isis followed in Cenchreae. The presence of these distinct forms of power can even be accounted for in geographical terms. The town of Hypata is a rural farming community located in the middle of the Thessalian plain, with very limited regular contact with the outside world. This isolation offers fertile ground for superstition and magic. On the other hand, the town of Cenchreae lies on the shore, by both the Aegean Sea and the Saronic Gulf, and serves as the harbor of Corinth. As a port town, it is open to the arrival of strangers and the import of foreign cults such as that dedicated to the goddess Isis (see Smith 1977, 203, with figure 1).
The presence of these distinct types of magic accounts for the cultural standards observable in each place. The catastrophic magic of the witches in Hypata renders society savage, as the witches represent forces of violence and disorder in the world. On the other hand, the worship of Isis at Cenchreae makes the people humane, as Isis is a goddess of love and compassion in the world.
More specifically, the presence of negative magic in Hypata dominates every aspect of the citizens’ life: their dinner conversations and entertainments, their rites, and their private lives. The witches have a powerful position in town: Socrates identifies the witch Meroe as femina divina (1.8), and Aristomenes characterizes her as a queen, regina, thus hinting at her rule as an autocrat (1.8). The power wielded by the witches has a corruptive effect on the community as a whole, turning people into savages. The disregard they show for strangers and institutions is plainly manifested in the way they trample on the norms of hospitium, which was a core concept in the ancient world, and one of the hallmarks of a civilized society. At Vergil’s Aeneid 2.539–2.540, disrespect for the rite is associated with savagery: Ilioneus defines Carthaginians as a savage nation for not allowing the shipwrecked Trojans to land on their shores.
The presence of the witches at Hypata leaves no room for any forms of civilized religion. Those peregrini who visit the town—Socrates, Aristomenes, Thelyphron, and Lucius—end up falling victims to sorcery and suffer immensely: Socrates meets a savage death; Aristomenes never returns to his home in Aigion, but moves instead out of fear of the witches to Aetolia; in his disfigured state, Thelyphron remains a metic in town; and Lucius undergoes a series of adventures as an ass. The number of strangers who arrive in town and receive poor treatment indicates the uncivilized character of the citizens of Hypata. The mistreatment of strangers is ultimately indicative of the absence of accepted cultural standards and progress in the community in question.
Furthermore, magic may also be linked to lack of knowledge. This notion emerges implicitly from the skeptic companion of Aristomenes’ tale, who asks the educated Lucius whether he believes in Aristomenes’ tale of the supernatural (1.20). This allows us to surmise that belief in magic is associated with ignorance and is appropriate for less educated and culturally inferior people.
The savagery of the people toward strangers is not limited to a certain class, but extends to all social strata, in full compliance with the rural character of a community that has little contact with the outside world. There are, of course, a few exceptions that prove the general rule. The aedile Pythias exposes the fishmonger’s fraud played on Lucius in the market, though he too has his own share in various flaws—he is clearly more interested in making a display of power than in seeing to others’ needs: Lucius goes hungry as a direct result of his alleged friend’s actions (1.24–1.25). Likewise, Byrrhaena shows respect for the hospitium pact. Nevertheless, both Pythias and Byrrhaena are outsiders: Pythias is an old friend of Lucius from Athens, and Byrrhaena has married into the community.
On the other hand, at Cenchreae, the people worship the goddess Isis, who offers protection to all. Isis responds to the stranger Lucius when he offers up a desperate prayer for help, and promises to restore him to the dignity of his former self in the Ploiaphesia festival the next day. Isis’ sympathy for the plight that has befallen Lucius the ass is mirrored in the humane reaction of her worshippers, who kindly make room for him to enter the festival procession and then express their awe and joy when he is restored to human form. Isis herself is a stranger in Greece, imported from Egypt; she thus may have lent the city its particular character as welcoming outsiders. It is also worth pointing out that at Cenchreae there is only one stranger, Lucius, who arrives in town and receives favorable treatment, thus demonstrating the civilized character of the town, in contrast to all other strangers who arrive in Hypata and receive savage treatment.
The civilized character of the religion practiced at Cenchreae is ultimately connected with Isis’ designation as goddess of knowledge and wisdom in the world. Associations between Isis and knowledge are implied in the etymology of the name, which derives from the Greek verb εἰδέναι (Plut., Is. et Osir. 351f). The name of her shrine, as Plutarch also suggests, promises knowledge (Plut., Is. et Osir. 352a). This knowledge and wisdom associated with Isis ultimately points to progress and humane standards in the society of Cenchreae, and thus appears in opposition to the nescience linked to magic and by extension the backward standards prevailing in Hypata.
It should be clear that the leading role magic plays in Hypata renders people savage and without respect for strangers, religious rites, and social institutions. This import of magic in town can be explained by the geographical seclusion of Hypata in the middle of the Thessalian plain, near Larissa, with no direct contact with the sea and, therefore, the outside world; this geographical isolation of the area undermines the cultural development of the town and in turn explains the nature of the religious festivals and rites of its citizens. Because of the lack of progress in the community, magic finds a place to grow. This absence of cultural standards is reflected in the inhumane treatment that several strangers receive in town, as well as in the humiliation of the stranger Lucius in the Laughter festival, as the aftermath of his indirect contact with magic in the wineskin incident. Even the worship of the god Laughter, a rather insignificant deity, in town seems to suit the need of the community to ridicule strangers in the context of a religious festival and thus explains why Zeus Xenios or Jupiter Hospitalis is not honored there. On the other hand, Lucius finds release from his troubles that came from magic only when he reaches the harbor of Cenchreae, where he appeals to the goddess Isis who offers her protection to all, strangers and citizens alike. The presence of the foreign cult of Isis in the town of Cenchreae also makes obvious the openness of their society as sea people. Isis’ compassion toward the stranger Lucius in his wretched condition is also mirrored in the reaction of her worshipers, who treat the same stranger in the most humane manner even in his animal form and admit him in their community. This radically different treatment of strangers at Cenchreae and Hypata reveals the cultural superiority of Isis’ community over the society of Hypata and their god of Laughter, since respect for strangers is cardinal to civilization.
1 I would like to thank David Konstan, Eleni Manolaraki, Daniel Iakov, and Yannis Tzifopoulos for their valuable suggestions in reading a draft of the paper and to the editors of the volume, Edmund P. Cueva and Shannon Byrne, for their invitation to contribute to the volume and their editorial advice thereafter.
2 In any event, the desire to gain access to Pamphile’s magic via her servant Photis reveals a character flaw that outweighs any considerations of status, learning, and decorum as a guest. Vander Poppen 2008, 166, reads Lucius’ curiositas for magic as another instance of a “clear breach of the trust entailed in the pact of hospitium.”
3 For the ritual use of animals in Abarvalia, see Turpin 2002, 15.
4 All quotations of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses are from the Teubner edition of Helm 1992; all English translations of the Latin text are from the Loeb edition of Hanson 1989.
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Fernández Contreras (1997) focuses on the subject of Homeric hospitality, as pictured in terms of Lucius’ hospitium relationship with Milo in book 1. Keulen (2007) passim offers valuable comments on Milo’s hospitium and that of Callimachus’ Hecale and Victoria Berenices, and on similar scenes of Petronius’ Satyrica as well. Vander Poppen (2008) discusses a model pair of hospitium relationships (Milo–Lucius and Isis–Lucius) and examines it from the perspective of the flaws, as exhibited by the hospitium pact, offered by both Milo and the goddess, or her earthly representatives, in any case. Bolchazy (1977) and Konstan (1999), respectively, provide excellent theoretical discussion on hospitium/xenia.