do ut des, but…

The common representation of Greek and Roman) religion as do ut des (“I give that you may give”) is right to recognize the reciprocity ethos of ancient religious practice, but is wrong in putting one-sided stress on the human giver as the initiator of the gift-cycle, and in suggesting a crude commercialism in the transaction. Just as friends are engaged in continuous cycles of benefit exchange, without calculating who started the process or totting up precisely what each benefit is worth, so Greek (and Roman) worshipers gave honor, gratitude, and gifts to the gods to recognize and continue the bonds of benevolence between them, always with the potential that the relationship may go sour. Among other things, such gifts made clear who were fitting recipients of the favors that the gods would distribute to worthy (e.g., pious and grateful) partners in such an exchange.—J. M. G. Barclay, Paul and the Gift 28

Artemis? Or Jesus? Which is it?

What is of interest here is that Artemis was also spoken of as “appearing.” One expression relating to Artemis used in the Salutaris inscription was “the most manifest goddess.” The use of epiphany language was also widespread in Greco-Roman religion, including in the imperial cult.

Although the point is not explicitly polemical, the readers of 1–2 Timothy are being told by the author that the true “manifestation” of a god in this world is Jesus Christ, not Artemis. So the language does have a polemical edge to it, for those with ears to hear. But in addition, the language used in the city of Artemis is here being applied to Jesus. This is a contextualization of the message—the adoption of the epiphany schema and its associated language as a vehicle for the expression of the author’s christology.—Paul Trebilco, “Not Engaging the City: Reading 1 and 2 Timothy and the Johannine Letters in the City of Ephesus,” in The Urban World and the First Christians, 169

Artemis and Ephesus

The procession occurred on the days the city assembly met, on important festivals such as the nativity of Artemis and on a number of other occasions. Rogers estimated that the procession would have occurred at least once every two weeks throughout the year, and that the whole procession would have lasted at least ninety minutes on each occasion. Since at least two hundred and sixty individuals were involved in the procession through the streets, it would have hindered, if not totally halted travel in the city on each occasion. Salutaris clearly intended the procession to be a significant event in the city each time it occurred.—Paul Trebilco, “Not Engaging the City: Reading 1 and 2 Timothy and the Johannine Letters in the City of Ephesus,” in The Urban World and the First Christians, 160

About that image thing

The nations surrounding Israel felt their idols did not just represent but actually were a localized manifestation of the god or goddess. They believed that the idol gave the worshiper genuine access to the presence of the god or goddess, because the image made the deity’s presence real, actual, and tangible. This does not mean, however, that the idol and the deity were thereby deemed identical or coterminous; rather, the god or goddess was “the reality that was embodied in the image” [Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought, 115–16] but at the same time was transcendent beyond the specific embodiment in that discrete idol in such a fashion that the deity could be fully and equally present in other idols.

From the above, we can conclude that what it meant to be in the image/idol of a god in the ancient Near East was not about having a singularly unique capacity, such as reason or a soul that might separate humans from the animals; rather the image served as a holistic manifestation of the divine presence to those who might encounter the deity in and through the image. Yet the deity remained transcendent beyond the image. Not just in the ancient Near Eastern world of the Old Testament but also during the time of Jesus, many pagans living in the Mediterranean region believed that their idols were a nexus of the mundane and the divine, a complex portal where heaven and earth kissed. As Nijay Gupta has recently concluded on the basis of his study of Greco-Roman cult statues, from the pagan vantage point idols (1) were not merely human creations but also divine; (2) were living; (3) were able to see, hear, and speak; (4) could sometimes move; and (5) were capable of “saving” their worshipers from illness, danger, or trouble [Gupta, "They Are Not Gods!," 712–718]. To meet the image was to encounter the god or goddess who was imbued and manifested in the image and who acted through it.—Matthew Bates in Salvation by Allegiance Alone, 150

Who decides?

Nearer the time of Jesus, Minucius Felix, a late second- or early third-century Christian apologist, gives an insightful mockery of pagan idol worship that gives a handy compressed description of the process by which an idol came to be considered fully divine in his day and age: “When does the god come into being? The image is cast, hammered, or sculpted; it is not yet a god. It is soldered, put together, and erected; it is still not a god. It is adorned, consecrated, prayed to—and now, finally, it is a god once man has willed it so and dedicated it” (Oct. 22.5).—Matthew Bates in Salvation by Allegiance Alone, 149

Hymns in the Greco-Roman world

Hymns, prayers, and religious poetry, we have seen, played a number of important roles within the larger sphere of ancient Greek and Roman worship. First, as hymns outlined the deeds, accomplishments, and characteristics of the gods in poetic or elevated style, they invited the listener or worshiper to embrace a particular view of how the divine and the human worlds engage one another. They thus played a role in passing on values and in teaching, even as they offered praise of the divine. Second, this passing on of values, teaching, and other worldview dimensions was not simply a rational, cognitive process, but also an emotional, affective one. Through painting a picture of reality, and inviting listeners into the imaginal world of the hymn, listeners not only heard content but also were ushered into an experience of the numinous. Third, and related, hymns carried a particular weight and authority of their own, as hymn writers often claimed (or sought) divine inspiration for their work and also drew on established traditions in their compositions. These conventions conveyed a sense of grandeur and conferred intrinsic authority on a hymn in a way that differed from other genres such as narrative or epistle. There was a conventionally accepted way to compose a hymn, and when done right a hymn conveyed something that other genres could not. Finally, hymns often addressed not only spiritual or religious matters but also issues of political importance, including human rulers and authorities. In this way hymns both carried on the tradition and served as vehicles for innovation. The visions of the divine conjured up by poets included within their scope the god—ordained rulers of the Roman Empire: this was an innovation, but one that was fully backed by the revered tradition of hymnic praxis.—Matthew Gordley, New Testament Christological Hymns, pp. 58–59

The mysteries

Contrary to what many moderns seem to think, there was no esoteric wisdom to be found in the ancient Mysteries, no Da Vinci Code to be deciphered.—Jan N. Bremmer, Initiation into the Mysteries of the Ancient World, electronic edition