When we moderns look back at the world of antiquity, we tend to view it anachronistically through the lens of our preconceptions and therefore to stress above all the role of the political and altogether to miss the centrality of the religious to the ancients. Yet the dynastic maneuverings, political affairs and military exploits we so sedulously survey in the histories represent but a veneer covering what for most contemporaries would have been the implacable inertia of everyday life, which for a pagan prior to the disenchantment brought about by the advent of Christianity was always saturated with religiosity. Joan Breton Connelly, who is a professor of art history and classics at the New York University and who has experience in the field as an archaeologist, has devoted a full-length monograph to one aspect of religious experience that loomed large for the pagan Greeks, namely, the participation of women in the cult as priestesses, in her Portrait of a Priestess: Women and Ritual in Ancient Greece, published by the Princeton University Press (2007).
The reason supporting this practice turns out to be as simple and logical as could be: a male divinity ought to be served by male priests, while a female divinity, by female priests. Connelly covers all aspects of priestesses in the ancient Greek world in ten thorough chapters accompanied by a rich selection of glossy photographs of cultic objects depicting priestesses going about performing the duties of their office, in ceremonial processions, sacrifices, benedictions and the like. Thus, descriptions of their recruitment and typical duties, depending on degree of initiation. The well-known institution of the college of Vestal virgins in Rome, who took a thirty-year vow of celibacy, saddles us moderns with a somewhat misleading portrait of what priestesses would have been like across the rest of the Mediterranean world. Indeed girls as young as nine would be inducted into service at the temples but their virginity was temporary and once the young women had concluded their delimited term, returned to secular life and married, they could become eligible to resume office as priestesses in more senior positions appropriate to a matron or to an elderly widow. Another theme Connelly is concerned to draw out is that of the social significance of women’s priestly functions having to do with the education of the young in girls’ choruses, protection of the city’s fortunes by placating the goddess and winning her favor etc. Far from looking down on women’s integral role as priestesses in the religious culture of the polis, Greek society memorialized them by erecting monuments and statues (as we know from their inscriptions) and often accorded them civic recognition and honors, such as the right to be seated in the front row of the amphitheater.
Lastly, the subject possibly of greatest interest to the modern reader may be that of the oracles delivered by the priestess, not only at Delphi but at numerous sites across the Greek-speaking world. Connelly’s account of the oracle at Delphi [pp. 72-81] is somewhat revisionary – indicating that wild flights of the imagination on the part of old-time scholars must be unrealistic and that the sibyls themselves may have been less passive mediums of their oracles than previously supposed. The interested reader may wish to compare Connelly’s extensive treatment of the subject of priestesses in Greek paganism with pericopes in Elaine Fantham et al., Women in the Classical World [pp. 93-95] or Walter Burkert, Greek Religion [pp. 45-46, 95-98, 109-118].
If Connelly’s historical reconstructions are to have relevance to us in the twenty-first century, the most likely juncture would be in a continuation of the institution of prophecy, for it remains as true today as it ever was back then that decadent mankind has to be prompted to hearken to God’s revelation. Therefore we wish to reflect for a moment on the nature of frenzy. What, ultimately, drove the sibyls into their cryptic utterances? Only a simpleton could imagine that the immediate occasion, inhalation of intoxicating vapors, was all that went on in their minds. Rather, liminal consciousness freed from distraction by quotidian minutiae perceives the heart of the matter with what is going on in the world. The prophet or prophetess will be one who having undergone an initiatory experience or ordeal has learnt to see the face of God and, inspired thereby, feels compelled to tell forth the mystery to his endarkened contemporaries.
Archetypal figures of the priestess include Cassandra, daughter of king Priam of Troy and the Pythia at the oracle of Apollo at Delphi. Nor was any prophetic status for women unique to Greek pagan religion. In the Old Testament, we know of Isaiah’s wife whom he calls the prophetess [Isaiah 8:3] or נְבִיאָה = nebiah, a feminine form of נָבִיא = nabi, used also of Miriam [Exodus 15:20] and Deborah [Judges 4:4]. Just because out of humility she prefers to leave public proclamations to her husband and thus remains herself silent in recorded scripture, we have no cause to suppose her irrelevant to Isaiah’s prophetic mission, as if she had been part of his life solely to provide material support by cooking and housekeeping. The medieval abbess Hildegard of Bingen in the twelfth century was subject since girlhood to mysterious and portentous visions, as she describes in her Scivias. What does she make of them? Read her Scivias to find out their content, but their effect was to impel her to go into the Rhineland and to preach against the clerical corruption then rife in the Latin Church – she was not content to whine and feel sorry for herself for not having been ordained to holy orders, as if she could have been, but confidently knew her eminent place as herald of the Holy Spirit and compelled the bishops to authorize her right thus to preach. Laity nowadays, especially would-be feminist women swept along more by the alien spirit of the age than by attachment to the perennial vocation of the Christian, tend to be confused as to sex roles in religion and, one could hope, might derive clarification from an improved awareness of the practice of the early church such as they could win from the astute, if provocative analysis by the German emeritus professor of New-Testament theology at the University of Heidelberg, Klaus Berger [Ehe und Himmelreich: Frau und Mann im Urchristentum, Herder (2019)]. In a nutshell, his thesis suggests that the practice of the early church recognized a dual complementarity between the respective roles of the two sexes, in that, in descent from the apostles, men could occupy formally organized religious functions in numerically fixed offices [Gremien], such as the presbyteriate and later the college of cardinals, whereas women played a more charismatic and prophetic role and were not limited to a fixed number of formal hierarchically ordered offices. Medieval Catholics, of course, would have been accustomed to and comfortable with women exercising leadership functions as ladies and queens, abbesses and above all as mystics. Only in the early modern period did women’s fortunes suffer eclipse in society at large, especially in northern Europe. After all, it was the magisterial Protestant Reformers who, by shuttering the monasteries, first promulgated the idea that henceforth a woman was to be confined to the career of housewife.
Hence, notwithstanding Connelly’s polemics in her final chapter, the vital role played by priestesses in ancient Greek religion persisted and was universalized after the coming of Christianity. For as the Roman Catholic catechism specifically states, baptism not only releases one from the guilt of original sin but also confers an indelible sacramental character or seal by which the baptized shares in the priesthood of Christ, in his prophetic and royal mission [§1268] – which applies to everyone and is to be distinguished from the ordained ministerial priesthood of holy orders proper. For a woman, then, this means that she acquires the baptismal seal as a priestess and prophetess. Perhaps an understanding of these things, so clear to the early Christians, became obscured during the early modern period. Can we denizens of the post-modern world have come around full circle, though? Could Greta Thunberg be the Cassandra of the twenty-first century? Nor is she alone, see the New York Times feature article on other young women at the recent Glasgow climate conference, from November 6, 2021.
Connelly’s careful and erudite scholarship shows up the limited conceptual space in which our cultural imagination moves in modern times – to this recensionist’s knowledge, there has never been a Disney movie starring a priestess as protagonist! Why? For a girl to grow up to become a priestess in action [agendo] must rest upon a sound foundation of heartfelt and tenacious piety, yet among all the virtues piety happens to be the one most furiously despised and contemned by post-modern feminists and secular liberal ideologues. In point of fact, Aquinas in the Summa theologiae ii-ii, q. 81, a. 6 contends that piety is the greatest virtue of all, preeminent even over the classical foursome of prudence, justice, courage and temperance! For as Aquinas states loc. cit., a. 3, ‘Now it belongs to religion to show reverence to one God under one aspect, namely, as the first principle of the creation and government of things’ – but unfortunately to show reverence towards God as the first principle of the government of things would necessarily entail a resolve to obey the commandments, and here is where the liberal must part company – who at all events could tolerate having to accept the teaching of the magisterium? Yet as John the evangelist declares in the prologue to his gospel:
The Word [Λόγος] was the real light that gives light to everyone; he was coming into the world. He was in the world that had come into being through him, and the world did not recognize him. He came into his own and his own people did not accept him. But to those who did accept him he gave the power to become children of God. (John 1:9-12a)
In every age, God responds to the exigencies of the moment by calling on his children to witness once again to his ways. The historian knows well the revitalization of religious culture which, long ago, was brought about by the contribution of a Benedict to monasticism in the early medieval Latin West or by Francis of Assisi and Dominic through the founding of the mendicant orders in the early thirteenth century. We have yet to see what God will do in the twenty-first century, but it would offer a great hope to our dismal world if women were to awake to the full potentialities inherent in their baptismal promise to become priestesses and prophetesses.