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Authors: Patricia Duncker
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‘He never gave original sin a chance to take root. If he discovered anyone afflicted with that inherited disease they were in breach of Roman law.’
‘Lucian was an atheist. Religious convictions have never been a prerequisite for moral excellence,’ smiled the Sibyl, coming to the tea table. ‘But I agree. He prided himself on the fact that he was a ruthless governor. Lucian took no chances.’
‘Could a just ruler conduct a moral reign over his citizens or his subjects without any religious principles at all?’ Lewes clearly enjoyed a good dispute.
Max rarely troubled himself with intellectual speculations concerning ethics, let alone metaphysics, but something he had discovered in his researches for his all too easily abandoned Geschichte des Altertums now clanged like a rising bell.
‘Was the main city of Mysia called Sardis or Pergamum?’ demanded Max, to the general astonishment of the Leweses, whose teacups froze in mid-air. Max had sat silent, attentive and decoratively pleasant to the eye for so long that his voice boomed into the warmth of their food, carpets and furniture.
‘Both Sardis and Pergamum were situated inland, I believe,’ said the Sibyl, manifestly capable of conjuring all biblical history out of her massive brain in an instant. ‘Lucian mentions both cities. But at that time Ephesus was a considerable port. The earthquake, which buried the town, filled the land between the arena and the sea with rubble from the mountain. Many of the great cities on the Anatolian coast ceased to exist because they became separated from the Mediterranean by increasing undredged silt. Lucian speaks of the docks in his comments on the Christians, and he certainly embarked at Ephesus when he returned to Rome by sea. The Seven Churches established by the time of Trajan’s campaigns between AD 98 and 117 were often located in ports, and St Paul travelled frequently by ship. He was shipwrecked on the rocks of Malta and immediately set about converting the island to this new faith.’
The Sibyl sipped her tea and took a moment to reflect.
‘Lucian compares the new religion to a plague, spread through the waterways. All seven churches of the Apocalypse were established in the provinces over which he was governor: Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamos, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and the unfortunate lukewarm Laodiceans.’
She stretched forth her cup towards her husband and uttered a rich, warm laugh.
‘My tea is in imminent danger of becoming a Laodicean!’ Her huge pendulous face lit up like a young girl’s, mischievous, merry and comical. ‘“I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth!”’
Max dreaded the fate of all those found to be lukewarm.
‘Poor Lucian,’ continued the Sibyl. ‘The infection clung to his rocks and terraces, taking root and growing fast. The games were eventually banned; the temples ruined and abandoned.’
‘But was the old religion worth saving?’ asked Max, thinking aloud. He gave up trying to follow the Sibyl’s sympathies and set about wolfing cake.
‘Now there’s a good question, Polly! And posed with the candid open-mindedness of a free-thinker, if I may say so, Max!’
The unfortunate Max munched his cinnamon and raisin cake in horror. For here was conclusive proof that he sat among advocates of that dark doctrine, which teaches that man is dust, and nothing but dust.
‘Yes, it is a good question,’ said the Sibyl, unperturbed, ‘and much depends upon how we understand the rise of Christianity, for if we view all new religions as a voyage towards the idea of God, then the Jews hold a special place, not only because of their unusual monotheism but because of their emphasis on human responsibility. The great strength of the Olympian gods lies not only in their all too human fallibility, which reflects the imaginations of their
‘Lucian was an atheist. Religious convictions have never been a prerequisite for moral excellence,’ smiled the Sibyl, coming to the tea table. ‘But I agree. He prided himself on the fact that he was a ruthless governor. Lucian took no chances.’
‘Could a just ruler conduct a moral reign over his citizens or his subjects without any religious principles at all?’ Lewes clearly enjoyed a good dispute.
Max rarely troubled himself with intellectual speculations concerning ethics, let alone metaphysics, but something he had discovered in his researches for his all too easily abandoned Geschichte des Altertums now clanged like a rising bell.
‘Was the main city of Mysia called Sardis or Pergamum?’ demanded Max, to the general astonishment of the Leweses, whose teacups froze in mid-air. Max had sat silent, attentive and decoratively pleasant to the eye for so long that his voice boomed into the warmth of their food, carpets and furniture.
‘Both Sardis and Pergamum were situated inland, I believe,’ said the Sibyl, manifestly capable of conjuring all biblical history out of her massive brain in an instant. ‘Lucian mentions both cities. But at that time Ephesus was a considerable port. The earthquake, which buried the town, filled the land between the arena and the sea with rubble from the mountain. Many of the great cities on the Anatolian coast ceased to exist because they became separated from the Mediterranean by increasing undredged silt. Lucian speaks of the docks in his comments on the Christians, and he certainly embarked at Ephesus when he returned to Rome by sea. The Seven Churches established by the time of Trajan’s campaigns between AD 98 and 117 were often located in ports, and St Paul travelled frequently by ship. He was shipwrecked on the rocks of Malta and immediately set about converting the island to this new faith.’
The Sibyl sipped her tea and took a moment to reflect.
‘Lucian compares the new religion to a plague, spread through the waterways. All seven churches of the Apocalypse were established in the provinces over which he was governor: Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamos, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and the unfortunate lukewarm Laodiceans.’
She stretched forth her cup towards her husband and uttered a rich, warm laugh.
‘My tea is in imminent danger of becoming a Laodicean!’ Her huge pendulous face lit up like a young girl’s, mischievous, merry and comical. ‘“I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth!”’
Max dreaded the fate of all those found to be lukewarm.
‘Poor Lucian,’ continued the Sibyl. ‘The infection clung to his rocks and terraces, taking root and growing fast. The games were eventually banned; the temples ruined and abandoned.’
‘But was the old religion worth saving?’ asked Max, thinking aloud. He gave up trying to follow the Sibyl’s sympathies and set about wolfing cake.
‘Now there’s a good question, Polly! And posed with the candid open-mindedness of a free-thinker, if I may say so, Max!’
The unfortunate Max munched his cinnamon and raisin cake in horror. For here was conclusive proof that he sat among advocates of that dark doctrine, which teaches that man is dust, and nothing but dust.
‘Yes, it is a good question,’ said the Sibyl, unperturbed, ‘and much depends upon how we understand the rise of Christianity, for if we view all new religions as a voyage towards the idea of God, then the Jews hold a special place, not only because of their unusual monotheism but because of their emphasis on human responsibility. The great strength of the Olympian gods lies not only in their all too human fallibility, which reflects the imaginations of their
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