Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion: A Study...

And the same thing is true, I hold, of the word Miastor. The theory of the lexicons, namely, that the word denotes a polluted and blood-guilty man because such an one is inevitably a ‘polluter’ of others, is certainly not intrinsically bad; for it recognises the primary meaning of the word, ‘polluter,’ and bases the secondary meaning ‘polluted’ upon a right understanding of the old belief that pollution was contagious. But at the same time it gives some occasion to wonder why the word should have been diverted from its most natural meaning in order to denote that which the cognate word μιαρός already expressed more simply. Moreover, when examination is made of those passages which are claimed as examples of such an usage, the theory becomes wholly unnecessary. The two most specious examples are two passages from Aeschylus[1209] and Euripides[1210], in both of which the persons called Miastores are Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. Now the authors of Agamemnon’s death were certainly polluted, and might with justice have been called μιαροί—that is admitted. But because they might have been called μιαροί and actually are called μιάστορες, it does not follow that, though the words have the same root, they also bear the same meaning. Obviously the word ‘fiends,’ if μιάστορες ever has that sense, would be an equally apt description of the murderous pair. The choice therefore between these two renderings here must be guided by more certain examples of usage elsewhere.

Two may be selected as eminently clear. In one Orestes calls Helen τὴν Ἑλλάδος μιάστορα[1211], where the word cannot mean a ‘polluted wretch,’ for the construction postulates an active meaning in Miastor; nor yet can the phrase be intelligibly rendered ‘the polluter of Greece,’ for there was no pollution involved in the warfare which Helen had caused; clearly Orestes means ‘the tormentor of Greece,’ the fiend who had proved the bane of ships and men and cities. In the other passage Peleus applies the word to Menelaus: ‘I look upon thee,’ he says, ‘as on the murderer—the fiend-like destroyer (μιάστορ’ ὥς τινα)—of Achilles[1212].’ Here again Miastor clearly bears an active sense, and at the same time cannot be rendered ‘polluter.’ Menelaus had brought upon Achilles not pollution but death, and the word Miastor explains the word ‘murderer’ (αὐθέντην) which precedes it—explains that the murder laid to Menelaus’ charge was not the open violence of a stronger foe, but resembled the death-dealing of some lurking fiend. In these two passages then the interpretation of Miastor in the sense of ‘fiend,’ ‘tormentor,’ ‘destroyer,’ is necessary and proven; and, this being known, common reason bids us read more ambiguous scriptures in the light thus obtained. There is therefore no call to suppose that μιάστωρ ever meant ‘polluted’; from the active meaning ‘Avenger’ it developed, like Alastor, the broader sense of ‘Tormentor’ or ‘Fiendish Destroyer’; and these meanings completely satisfy the conditions of Tragic and other usage of the words.

There remains the word προστρόπαιος, to which the lexicons, I admit, rightly ascribe a twofold meaning. It is clearly used both of the Avenger of blood and also of the blood-guilty person who is seeking purification. But as regards both the means by which the first signification was obtained, and the primary application of the word in that signification, I join issue. The second meaning is more satisfactorily explained, and my criticism of it will not go beyond an alternative suggestion.

The lexicons elucidate the first meaning as follows: he to whom one turns, especially with supplications, θεός or δαίμων προστρόπαιος the god to whom the murdered person turns for vengeance, hence an avenger, like ἀλάστωρ ... hence also of the manes of murdered persons, visiting with vengeance, implacable.

The objections to this explanation are obvious. It may well be questioned whether προστρόπαιος is at all likely to have had any passive meaning—as it were a person who ‘is turned to’—when the verb προστρέπω itself was, so far as I can ascertain, never so used; and further, if a god had really been called προστρόπαιος because the murdered man turned for vengeance to him, the extension of the term to the manes of murdered persons must imply a conception of the murdered man turning for vengeance towards—himself. This is not a little cumbrous; and for my part I deny the existence of any passive sense of προστρόπαιος.

I do however find two senses of the word, the one active, corresponding to the transitive use of the verb προστρέπειν or προστρέπεσθαι (for the middle as well as the active voice might be used transitively, as will shortly appear), the other middle, corresponding to the ordinary usage of the middle προστρέπεσθαι. Thus the active meaning of προστρόπαιος will be turning something towards or against someone; the middle meaning, turning oneself towards someone.

The active usage is best illustrated by a passage of Aeschines, in which he accuses Demosthenes of wilful perjury in calumniating him, and then appeals to the jury in these words—ἐάσετε οὖν τὸν τοιοῦτον αὑτοῦ προστρόπαιον (μὴ γὰρ δὴ τῆς πόλεως) ἐν ὑμῖν ἀναστρέφεσθαι[1213]; ‘Will you then allow this perjurer, who has turned upon his own head (for I pray that it be not on the city) the anger of the gods in whose name he swore, to continue in your midst?’ Here the very brevity of the Greek, which I am compelled to expand in translation, proves that Aeschines’ audience were perfectly familiar with an active meaning of προστρόπαιος with an evil connotation, ‘turning some misfortune or punishment or vengeance upon someone.’

The middle sense of προστρόπαιος is equally clearly exhibited by Aeschylus, who in telling the story of Thyestes says that after his banishment by his brother Atreus he came again προστρόπαιος ἑστίας[1214], ‘turning himself (as a suppliant) towards the hearth’ of his father’s home, so that his own life at least was spared out of respect for the place.

In the active sense προστρόπαιος was primarily applied, I hold, like Miastor and Alastor, to the murdered man himself, who ‘turned’ his wrath ‘against’ the murderer, or, if it so happened, against the next of kin who had failed in his duty of bringing the murderer to justice. It is precisely thus that Plato uses the verb προστρέπεσθαι in recording the old tradition in which he apparently reposed so much faith as to base his own laws upon it. ‘If the nearest of kin,’ so runs the passage, ‘do not seek vengeance for the deed, it is held that the pollution devolves upon him, and that the sufferer (i.e. the dead man) turns upon him the suffering (i.e. that which the homicide himself should have incurred), and anyone who will may bring a suit against him, etc.[1215]’ The words which I have italicised are in the Greek τοῦ παθόντος προστρεπομένου τὴν πάθην, where the middle presumably was preferred to the active because the sufferings which the dead man inflicts are, as we already know and as the language of the particular phrase itself suggests, exactly those which he himself suffers. This usage of the verb, though it is distinctly rare and probably a technicality of religion or law, is so perfectly clear in this one example[1216], that there should be no hesitation about understanding the cognate word προστρόπαιος in the same sense. And indeed one lexicographer, Photius, shows that he did so understand it; for he tells us that Zeus was sometimes invoked under this title, as turning against murderers the pollution (including perhaps the punishments) of their crime:

Ζεὺς ... προστρόπαιος, ὁ προστρέπων τὸ ἄγος αὐτοῖς (sc. τοῖς παλαμναίοις)[1217]—such are his actual words, and this time of course the verb is rightly in the active, for Zeus is in no way personally concerned but acts only in the interests of the dead man. Clearly then it was in virtue of this active meaning that προστρόπαιος came to be practically a synonym of Miastor and Alastor in the sense of an Avenger of blood.

I find the application of it more restricted than that of the other two words. It was used of the dead man himself, and it was used of demons avenging his cause; but it was never used[1218] of the next of kin in the character of avenger—and that for the very good reason that when the word was applied to a living man it bore an entirely different meaning, which has yet to be discussed, the meaning of ‘blood-guilty.’

A few examples of each usage must be given. Both Antiphon and Aeschylus apply the word to murdered men; Antiphon, in a speech in which the kinsman, who has, as in duty bound, undertaken the prosecution of the murderer, claims that, if the jury wrongfully acquit, the dead man will not become προστρόπαιος, an Avenger, against his kinsmen who have done their best in his service, but will visit his anger on the jury for condoning and thereby sharing the blood-guilt[1219]; Aeschylus, in that list of penalties which has been discussed, when he depicts the ‘madness and vain terror,’ which will befall Orestes if he fail in his task, as an arrow that flieth in darkness sped by powers of hell ‘at the behest of fallen kindred that turn their vengeance upon him’ (ἐκ προστροπαίων ἐν γένει πεπτωκότων[1220]). But equally clearly in other passages the Avenger indicated is not the murdered man, but some divine being. Antiphon again is an authority for this usage. Twice, in a context similar to that which has just been noticed, he speaks not of the murdered man himself becoming an Avenger, but of certain divine powers—whom he also calls ἀλιτήριοι, the powers that deal with sin—acting as Avengers (προστρόπαιοι) of the dead[1221]. And similarly in later time Pausanias also speaks of ‘the pollution (μίασμα) incurred by Pelops and of the Avenger (προστρόπαιος) of Myrtilus[1222].’

Since then there is no question but that the word προστρόπαιος was actually applied both to dead men and to gods, to which of the two did it refer primarily? We already know the answer. The dead man himself, as a revenant, was the prime and proper Avenger of his own wrongs; demons of vengeance acted only in his name, as his subordinates and agents. To him therefore the name primarily belonged. And even if we had not already learnt this from other sources, the passage of Aeschylus, to which I have just referred, might well guide us to the same conclusion. The arrow that flieth in darkness is sped indeed, he says, ‘by powers of hell’ (τῶν ἐνερτέρων)—the demonic agents of the dead—but ‘at the behest of fallen kindred.’ The activity both of the principal and of the agent is recognised in the same passage, and either might have been called προστρόπαιος: but, because the activity of both was plainly asserted, Aeschylus reserved the name for the one to whom it primarily belonged, the murdered man, who turns his wrath, who turns indeed those powers of hell who execute his wrath, against his enemies.

There now remains for consideration only the second meaning of προστρόπαιος; how could a word, which in reference to dead men or to deities meant ‘an Avenger of blood,’ bear, in relation to living men, the sense of ‘blood-guilty’? Very likely the dictionaries are right in accepting the explanation of this use which Hesychius[1223] and others give. We have seen one case[1224] in which the word clearly has a middle sense ‘turning oneself towards’ a place or a person in supplication; and there is no difficulty in supposing that the word was used technically in the same sense of a blood-guilty man who turned to some god or to some sanctuary in quest of purification. This, I say, is very probably the right explanation. But I may perhaps offer an alternative explanation which I do not count preferable but merely possible. The active meaning of προστρόπαιος, ‘turning something upon someone,’ might conceivably have produced this sense of ‘blood-guilty’ as well as the other sense ‘an Avenger of blood.’ As the dead man was held to turn something, namely his wrath, against his enemy, so might the murderer have been pictured as trying to turn something, namely the pollution which he had incurred, upon some object and so to cleanse himself therefrom. Now the chief feature in the Delphic ceremony of purification was the slaying of a sucking-pig[1225].

This may of course have been merely a propitiatory sacrifice; but it is possible also that the animal was really a surrogate victim for the murderer himself, that by laying his polluted hand on its head he transferred the religious uncleanness from himself to it, and that, by the subsequent slaughter of the now blood-guilty animal, he vicariously satisfied the old law that blood could only be washed out by blood. This is only a conjecture, and I leave others to judge of its probability; but, if the ceremony had followed the lines which I have suggested, it is easily intelligible that, in the technical language of religion, the murderer who sought to turn his own pollution upon the victim might have been called προστρόπαιος.

Thus then the problem of the ancient nomenclature of revenants is solved, and the results are briefly these: all revenants were originally called ἀλάστορες, ‘Wanderers’; but subsequently that name was restricted only to the vengeful class of revenants, to which the names μιάστορες and προστρόπαιοι had always belonged; and for the more harmless and purely pitiable revenants no name remained, but men said of such an one simply, ‘He wanders.’