Sibyls,destruction,and loss in the context of reproductive science

Abstract

The sixth-century prologue to a collection of Sibylline Oracles introduces the anthology according to a pattern recognizable in prologues to a number of texts of the period. It begins by praising the oracles for the great value they have for readers. But then, it introduces a problem: the oracles have suffered from destruction, loss, and corruption at several points in their history. The prologue goes on to offer a solution: the creation of the very anthology of Sibylline Oracles being produced. The rhetorical function of such a prologue is clear: It ensures the value of Sibylline Oracles while simultaneously demonstrating the utility, or even necessity of the newly created collection. Of interest in this study is the way the prologue introduces and illustrates the problem of destruction, loss, and corruption. In no less than three different vignettes, the prologue shows how the oracles are especially resistant to preservation. And these instances are not alone. A discourse of sibylline loss circulated around the textual world of antiquity. This study argues that the discourse is best understood within the framework of ancient ideals concerning intergenerational transfers of knowledge from fathers to sons, and some ancient theories of reproductive science, which held that only men contained reproductive potential, while women were empty vessels or fallow fields waiting to be filled. The article concludes that sibyls are so frequently sites of loss and destruction of knowledge because, as women, they are believed to lack the capacity to reproduce themselves both intellectually and biologically.

Introduction

Loss follows the sibyls wherever they go. Despite the fact that Sibylline Oracles have maintained a constant presence in the imaginations of scholars from at least the fourth-century B.C.E. onward, sibyls seem to carry with them a precarious legacy. ¹ Throughout their many appearances as characters in Greco-Roman, Jewish, and Christian narrative, the sibyls are often unable to reliably transmit their divine speech to others. All along the way, sibyls and their oracles run into trouble. Their prophecies are burned (Tacitus, Annals, VI.12; Rutilius Claudius Namatianus, De reditu suo, II.52–60). Their oracles are poorly recorded (Sib. Or. Pr. 85–87). They have their sayings forgotten (Shepherd of Hermas 3:3; 5:3; Sib. Or. Pr. 88–89). They are not able to write for themselves (Shepherd of Hermas 16:10). They have their contributions attributed to others (Cave of Treasures 27:7–12). People lose track of their manuscripts (Shepherd of Hermas, 5:4; Sib. Or. Pr. 9, 64–66). And sometimes, they actively participate in the destruction of their own writings (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities, IV.62.1–4; Lactantius, Divine Institutes, I.6.8–12; Sib. Or. Pr. 51–63). Thus, many sibylline writings come down to us as books known only by mention. This idea of sibylline loss carries through a wide variety of sources. The trope is perhaps most prominent in a little-read prologue to a pair of manuscripts of one of the byzantine anthologies of Sibylline Oracles. There, as shall be explained, loss is a theme relevant to the rhetorical situation of the prologue. But, this raises a question: why is it so ubiquitous elsewhere? How did it come to pass that the sibyls cannot seem to escape this connection with destruction and loss of their own knowledge? Why do their books, specifically, become books known only by mention?

Previously, scholars have brought attention to one part of this trope, both in the prologue and elsewhere in early Christian and Jewish literature. ² In those cases, scholars connected the sibylline troubles in transmission with a motif of suspicion of female divinatory figures in early Jewish and Christian texts. It has been argued that the stories of sibyls manifest this distrust when they require the oracles and even the sibyls themselves to be mediated by male characters. While that theme is present, and has some relevant links to other texts in Jewish and Christian traditions, I do not think it explains the connection between the sibyls and destruction, loss, and corruption of their oracles. That motif remains unaddressed, as does a deeper exploration of how ancient constructions of gender might shed light on why sibyls perennially run into difficulties when passing on their knowledge. To better understand this aspect of the sibylline story, I would like to involve it in a complementary discussion. This conversation highlights sibylline discourse to propose a link between the transmission of knowledge, gender, and reproduction. In this study, I shall argue that sibylline knowledge so frequently runs aground in its odyssey through the imagined library of the ancient world because the sibyls are women. I shall demonstrate that, even though the sibylline voice is highly valued, the words she speaks are fragile due to her inability to create disciples in her own image. Finally, I shall propose that the sibyl’s infecundity not only relies on a distortion of familiar tropes about intergenerational paths of knowledge, but ultimately bears comparison with ancient science’s account of the role played by women in reproduction.

The sibylline prologue

This discussion begins with the story of sibylline loss in its native habitat. Two fifteenth-century manuscripts of Sibylline Oracles identified by the letters A and S, belonging to the ϕ family of texts, begin with a lengthy prologue of 103 lines. ³ This family of manuscripts is distinguished by containing what has been identified by generations of readers as books 1–8 of the anthology currently known as the Sibylline Oracles. ⁴ Despite the appearance of this prologue only in these two fifteenth-century manuscripts, most scholarship has argued that the prologue and the text alongside which it appears stem from the late fifth or early sixth centuries. ⁵ This dating rests on the evidence of the prologue itself, and its apparent relationship to another work, known as the Theosophy. ⁶ This work, believed to be an appendix of a lost text called On True Belief, includes a historical chronicle that ends with Caesar Zenon. ⁷ Because Zenon reigned until 491 C.E., the treatise and therefore the Sibylline prologue that relies on parts of it, must be younger than this date. Just how much younger is open to interpretation, but scholars tend toward the earliest possible date. It is reasonable to argue, on the basis of the prologue’s contents, that it is written for the purpose of introducing the anthology of oracles found in Sibylline Oracles 1–8.

Because the prologue is so long, it is useful to describe its contents in several more or less discrete sections. The sibylline prologue begins with a section of 28 verses that praises the oracles first by favorably comparing them to Greek literature, and then by describing how they contain all manner of figures and events found elsewhere in Jewish and Christian scriptures. It may seem odd to see these ostensibly Apollonian prophetesses positively involved in Christian discourse, but this was not at all uncommon in antiquity, and exists even up through the Renaissance. ⁸ Following this section, verses 29–50 introduce the sibyl as a perennially present speaker/voice that has repeatedly been found to reliably predict future events. This section creates this impression by introducing a false etymology for the word “sibyl,” thereby transforming the term into a generic title. ⁹ It then proceeds by arranging a catalog of ten sibyls in a chronological sequence stemming from Noah in the hoary past to Solon of Athens, Cyrus the Great, and beyond. ¹⁰ The combined effect of the first two sections is that the value of the oracles themselves, and the authenticity of the sibyl as speaker are assured.

A third section of the prologue (vv. 51–74) recounts a story concerning the Cumaean sibyl, who tries to sell nine books of her oracles to a Roman king. Upon being rebuffed, the Cumaean sibyl destroys first three, and then six of the books of her oracles. Finally, after attempting to sell the remaining three books, the king deigns to read them and is amazed by their contents. He buys the three last books of oracles and asks the Cumaean sibyl about the contents of the others that have already been destroyed. The sibyl responds that she does not and cannot know the contents of these books without inspiration. She adds that people have occasionally collected oracles from various places, and that, if the king is so interested, a gathering should be done. The king apparently complies. He stores all the oracles in the Capitol but hides those of the Cumaean sibyl, making them available only to a limited few, because they accurately predict Italy’s future. The others remain completely unknown. As it turns out, all of these oracle collections are books known only by mention. Neither the prologue nor the anthologized oracles claim to present the remaining three books. I shall more fully explain the interpretation of this section within the rhetorical situation of the prologue below, but it is clear that it embodies a discourse of loss in the discussion of the sibyl and her oracles. In so doing, it both continues to highlight the value of these oracles and shows why they need to be preserved and distributed in an anthology such as the one introduced by the prologue. ¹¹

The fourth section of the prologue, which stretches from verse 75 to 92, attributes an apology for the corruption of some of the oracles to Firmianus [Lactantius]. It follows this up with another reassurance of the value of the oracles, this time attributed to Plato. ¹² Both of these defenses of the oracles rely on further iteration of the discourse of loss. In the apology attributed to Lactantius, the corruption is introduced because the copyists are unable to keep up with the sibyl’s speech and she, in turn is no longer able to remember the contents of her prophecy. The praise ostensibly heaped on the oracles by Plato comes alongside another statement that the sibyl does not know what she says. She speaks in a prophetic frenzy. The implication seems to be that the oracles are genuinely divine, because the sibyl lacks all agency. ¹³ In each case, both loss and value come together, as in the third section of the prologue. The fifth section (vv.93–103) closes the prologue by quoting a saying from the sibyl about the unity of the deity and creation. This appears to be provided as an endorsement of the sibyl’s value, as discussed at several points earlier in the prologue. It may also be a way of assuring her compatibility with Christian ideas concerning theology, anthropology, and cosmology. ¹⁴

The prologue in literary theory

As I have suggested above, the nexus of esteem and loss is central to the poetics of the prologue. This claim demands an explanation of what the prologue is doing. As Gérard Genette points out, prologues have functions, and can be analyzed through the framework of these functions. ¹⁵ For Genette, one such classification for prefatory writings is an original preface. This type of preface is primarily concerned with making sure that a text is read properly, that is, as its author intended. An original preface, in Genette’s usage is one written by the author at the time the text is released to the public. ¹⁶ As I have noted above, neither of these aspects can be maintained for the sibylline prologue. It is entirely unclear when the prologue was written, except that it must have been after the Theosophy. Furthermore, as it introduces an anthology of ostensibly ancient oracles, it is certainly not written by an “author” in any modern sense of the word. Yet, if one attends to the voicing of the prologue, and analyzes the rhetorical situation it creates, rather than the compositional moment in which it may or may not have been composed, the designation fits.

The prologist’s voice is that of the anthologizer, the one crafting the text before the readers of the manuscripts on which it appears. This can be gathered from the prologist’s statement that “I have decided to set down the oracles named Sibylline . . . ” (Sib. Or. Pr. 8–9), ¹⁷ to which the prologist later adds “I will give as much as able of that which has been given from Rome by the elders” (Sib. Or. Pr. 91–92). ¹⁸ Moreover, there is no chronological distance placed between the prologue and the audience it creates. So, as a reader of the prologue, one is formed as witness to an eternal now of the anthology’s creation. For the prologue’s audience, the anthology has always just been created. This then suggests that treating it as an example of Genette’s original preface is potentially fruitful.

The prologue and the ancient poetics of change

However, being read properly will mean something different in distinct settings. Therefore, the function of this prologue needs to be further refined. In her classic investigation of ancient Mediterranean prefaces, Loveday Alexander sees the shift from a predominately oral culture to a primarily written one as demanding increased explanation of a work’s contents, and naming of its intended audience. She argues that, as communication shifts toward writing, prefaces increase in frequency and utility because the written medium allows a work to escape a specific communicative context. It therefore needs to introduce both the subject matter, and the audience for which it is intended so that it might attract attention and be fully appreciated. ¹⁹ But, another consequence of writing’s ability to move freely in and out of various contexts is that it will often land before audiences that do not appreciate its value, even if properly introduced by a prologue. For this reason, some writings need to be changed to correct for a variety of perceived errors and shortcomings. In the ancient Mediterranean milieu, some of these texts are transmitted with prologues that address these adaptations. This phenomenon gives rise to a subset of prefatory writings for which Alexander does not account.

These prefaces can be affixed to texts like summaries, epitomes, translations, glossaries, commentaries, and anthologies, all of which rearrange, supplement, or otherwise adapt content in order to preserve the value of this knowledge in new settings. ²⁰ They are typically written in the voice of the person responsible for the changes. Markus Dubischar has argued that these prologues further distinguish themselves by consistently employing three elements in their rhetorical attempt to convince audiences to read and accept the texts to which the prologues are attached. (1) They express praise for the texts, corpora, or traditions the prologist claims to adapt. ²¹ These encomia usually focus on the knowledge content contained within the texts or corpora and may also praise the sources of these contents. For obvious reasons, they usually do not praise the aesthetic achievements of the earlier texts or corpora. (2) They identify problems in the earlier transmission of the texts, corpora, or contents. These problems are shown to be obstacles for people to realize the true value of the contents. These shortcomings often stem from aesthetic judgments about length, relevance, clarity, and truth. (3) They point out how the prologist’s own efforts have solved the problems, and potentially saved the contents from being undervalued, or even lost. ²² The effect of these prologues is that the newly presented content is properly read through its connection to something of value to the past and its re-crafting for present aesthetic and epistemic sensibilities. The prologue to the Sibylline Oracles fits well into the pattern of these prefaces, and it is through this paradigm that value and loss are intertwined. ²³ The fact of the Cumaean sibyl’s books being known only by mention actually helps to establish the value of the oracles that have been rescued from destruction.

The praise for the oracles is accomplished in various ways. The most prominent means by which their value is highlighted comes in the benefits they provide as compared with Greek literature (Sib. Or. Pr. 1–8), their discussion of topics and figures relevant to Christian interests (Sib. Or. Pr. 15–27, 93–103), their continued reliability and relevance in a number of antique contexts (Sib. Or. Pr. 29–50, 60–62, 68–70), and their authenticity as divine speech (Sib. Or. Pr. 86–92). Despite the many and extensive proofs of potential value of the oracles, the prologue does introduce a problem in their transmission. This is their aforementioned tendency toward loss, destruction, and corruption. As noted above, one sees this problem arise at several points in the prologue. The theme of loss is first observed at verse 9, where the prologist remarks that the Sibylline Oracles are “scattered and confusingly read” (Sib Or. Pr. 9). ²⁴ This, of course, is elaborated upon with the aforementioned story of the Cumaean sibyl (Sib. Or. Pr. 51–74), which discusses the destruction of oracles (Sib. Or. Pr. 55, 57), but also their dispersal (Sib. Or. Pr. 64–66), seclusion (Sib. Or. Pr. 69–71), and misattribution (Sib. Or. Pr. 72–74). The section credited to Lactantius and Plato adds to this corruption of the oracles in their recording (Sib. Or. Pr. 85–88) and ignorance of the content of the oracles (Sib. Or. Pr. 89–91).

Many of these problems connected to loss are ostensibly solved by the prologist’s efforts to create the anthology. Of course, the Cumaean sibyl’s books known only by mention can no longer be salvaged, but other extant oracles might still be preserved. This is noted at verse 8, “I have decided to set down the oracles named Sibylline” (Sib. Or. Pr. 8), ²⁵ 10–14, “being known in one continuous book, that they may be easily read by readers and partake their use to them, by not interpreting an inconsiderable number of good and useful things, and doing the study that is of more benefit and more diverse,” ²⁶ and 91–92, “Therefore I will give as much as able of that which has been given from Rome by the elders” (Sib. Or. Pr. 91–92). ²⁷

This act of anthologization purportedly takes the oracles out of seclusion, gathers them together in one place, saves them from further destruction, and ensures that they are not forgotten. It ostensibly brings some books known only by mention into the light. The anthology creates a sibylline canon. So, these characteristics of Sibylline Oracles are not out of place in this environment. The books known only by mention underscore why the collection of Sibylline Oracles 1–8 must be made in the first place. By attending to the poetics of this prologue among a similar set of antique prefaces it is easy to account for the presence of stories of loss, destruction, and corruption of the sibyl’s pronouncements. However, this is not the only text in which the sibyl’s oracles are connected to loss.

Sibylline loss in the Theosophy

As already noted, the prologue bears a relationship to a Byzantine appendix known as the Theosophy. This work is an apologetic treatise in four books that employs oracles and knowledge from the Graeco-Roman world in order to demonstrate the truth of its monophysite Christian positions. ²⁸ The third book of the Theosophy is dedicated to reproducing oracles of the sibyls that contribute to this larger project. ²⁹ A portion of book three of the Theosophy (III.7–59, 69–80, 82, 85–91 in Beatrice’s edition) is believed to have been copied in full into the sibylline prologue. ³⁰ This comprises virtually all material from the second section of the preface onward. ³¹ Among the passages shared by the Theosophy and sibylline prologue are a number of selections communicating sibylline loss and destruction (Th. III.29–43, 46–51, 72–76).

Despite the vast amounts of overlapping material related to sibylline loss in the Theosophy and the prologue, an important distinction remains. The poetics and rhetorical aim of these pieces diverge. As I have argued, the prologue is highlighting the loss, destruction, and corruption of Sibylline Oracles in order to underline the need for the creation of the anthology of Sibylline Oracles 1–8, to which it is appended. The fragility of the sibyl’s prophecies in that context introduces a set of problems for which the anthology is the solution. Moreover, in the manuscript record, the prologue is materially followed by the collection of oracles, thereby delivering its promised solution to readers. In short, it suggests that at least these oracles will not become books known only by mention. Conversely, the context of these passages toward the start of book three of the Theosophy lacks that rhetorical trajectory. These paragraphs do perform a prefatory function, in that they encourage audiences to charitably read the quotation and commentary of sibylline oracle fragments that follow. However, the way the theme of loss figures into this discussion is entirely different. Because the Theosophy does not at any point claim to be solving any of the issues that arise from the history of oracular loss, the entire discussion might serve as an apology for the fragmentary nature of the oracles, or a plea to read them as authentic. That is, the trope of sibylline loss introduces problems for which there are no available solutions. For this reason, it is curious that the idea of loss, destruction, and corruption of the oracles is so ubiquitous in the Theosophy. It may be that the idea of realized or potential absence can be closely linked to value, as it is in the story of the Cumaean sibyl’s oracles, as well as in the statements attributed to Lactantius and Plato. If so, the passages teach readers to value the oracles, not despite their apparent fragility, but because of it. These oracles must be heeded because other oracles like them are now books known only by mention. This, in fact, is directly hinted at among the passages shared by the sibylline prologue and the Theosophy: “that which is rare is thought precious” (Sib. Or. Pr. 84–85; Th. III.70–71). ³² But, even if true, it is necessary to discern how this way of communicating value comes to attach itself to the sibyls. This demands an even broader examination of the phenomenon in other sources.

Sibylline loss in the Divine Institutes

The stories in the prologue and Theosophy dispatch the interested scholar on just such an exploration. As is already clear from some of the passages I have highlighted above, these traditions around sibylline loss do not begin with the Theosophy. These books have a history of being known only by mention. The text itself points backward to other sources. Perhaps the most important of these is the third-century C.E. Christian apologist, Firmianus Lactantius. Although the passage attributed to Lactantius plays only a minor part in the argumentation of the prologue and Theosophy, a number of scholars have pointed to his Divine Institutes as a reference for several of the traditions found in those texts. ³³ This includes the sixteenth-century scribe responsible for codex Ottobonensis gr. 378, which bears the heading “From Firmianus Lactantius of Rome concerning the Sibyl and the Others” (Gk.: εκ τῶν Φιρμινιανοῦ [sic] λακταντίου τοῦ ρωμαίου περὶ σιβύλλης καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν). ³⁴ Here, the scribe appears to credit Lactantius with the whole of the text presented. In actuality, Lactantius’ account interacts with the Theosophy and sibylline prologue when it provides a (different) false etymology for the term “sibyl,” and assembles a somewhat different list of ten sibyls (Divine Institutes I.6.7–12). This entire section of the Divine Institutes serves a prefatory function by introducing the sibyls as well-respected oracular sources who should be trusted by Lactantius’ non-Christian audience. ³⁵ In fulfilling this function, Lactantius reminds his audience about who the sibyls are and what is their value. In this discussion, he claims to follow Marcus Varro, for whom Lactantius is one of the main extant witnesses. ³⁶ Lactantius thereby provides historical and scholarly weight to his observations. This comes through especially in the list of ten sibyls.

Within this list, Lactantius repeats another version of the story of the Cumaean sibyl (Divine Institutes I.6.10–11). Interestingly, this story communicates the interaction between the Cumaean sibyl and the king in a way that differently mixes the recurring themes of loss and value. In Lactantius’ version, when the Cumaean sibyl offers first nine, then six, and finally three books to Tarquinius Priscus, she never lowers her price, and the king never reads them. Instead, he agrees to pay her the full amount she had originally asked, ostensibly because he is alarmed by her increasing madness.

The seventh, the Cumaean, by name Amalthea (called by others Heraphile or Demophile), is she who brought the nine books to King Tarquinius Priscus. She demanded for them 300 philippei, and when the king, spurning the high price, ridiculed the woman’s madness, she burned three books in his sight and demanded the same price for the remaining ones. Tarquin thought the woman was becoming more and more insane. Finally, when she persevered in her demand for the same price after three others had been destroyed, the king relented and bought the three that were left for the 300 gold pieces. ³⁷

septimam Cumanam nomine Amaltheam, quae ab aliis Herophile uel Demophile nominetur, eamque nouem libros attulisse ad regem Tarquinium Priscum ac pro iis trecentos Philippeos postulasse regemque aspernatum pretii magnitudinem derisisse mulieris insaniam; illam in conspectu regis tres combussisse ac pro reliquis idem pretium poposcisse; Tarquinium multo magis insanire mulierem putauisse; quae denuo tribus aliis exustis cum in eodem pretio perseueraret, motum esse regem ac residuos trecentis aureis emisse ³⁸

On two occasions, Tarquin is said to react to the apparent insanity of the sibyl, but at no point does he react to her oracles the way he does in the later versions of the story. Nevertheless, he pays the exorbitant price she asks for the books. This minor difference communicates the value of the oracles, but fails to associate it with their content. The worth is established, and perhaps even rises with their increased rarity brought about by the libricide. More importantly, Lactantius’ narrative links their potential destruction to the enthusiastic frenzy otherwise associated with authentic oracular pronouncements. The oracles are clearly precious, regardless of the king’s engagement with them. The only elements in the story that change are the number of available books and Tarquin’s perception of the sibyl’s level of sanity. The fact that the first six books will forever be books known only by mention makes the final three all the more priceless. These two factors combine to communicate the impression that the sibyl’s oracles are both valuable and at risk because of the sibyl’s frenzy.

There is an obviously gendered discourse at work here, which associates femininity with mental and emotional pathology. As Rhiannon Graybill has pointed out, it is similarly employed within narratives of prophetic performance in the Hebrew Bible. The overall effect produced is that the feminine enthusiasm of divinatory figures presents them as potentially more reliable prophets. ³⁹ The same case may be made with the sibyls, as Olivia Stewart Lester has done in Vergil’s Aeneid and Sibylline Oracles 4–5. ⁴⁰ Because the sibyl performs her divination as a woman, she embodies the vulnerable position of the hysteric, and through this speaks with the most authentic prophetic voice. That is, her ecstatic state proves that she is overcome by the god(s) speaking through her, without human reason to mediate it. However, this enthusiastic frenzy brings with it the revulsion Tarquin displays, and the potential damage to her oracles that Lactantius narrates here. ⁴¹ The books are known only by mention because of this apparent insanity.

Lactantius goes on to provide several more examples of the trope of sibylline loss in the ensuing paragraphs of the Divine Institutes. Immediately after the story just recounted, he notes that a number of oracles were gathered from Italian and Greek cities when the Capitol was rebuilt. A little further on, he comments that a book (of Sibylline Oracles?) was once found in the hands of a statue of the Tiburtine sibyl on the bottom of a river (Divine Institutes I.6.11–12). While both of these are ultimately stories of recovery, they also underline earlier dispersion and loss. These cases of loss, however, have little to do with the sibyl’s enthusiasm. Nor does the hiding of the Cumaean oracles from the Roman populace, or the misattribution of the oracles of all the other sibyls, which Lactantius also brings up in the immediate context (Divine Institutes I.6.13). These anecdotes of sibylline scattering, hiding, loss, and misattribution may add to the appearances of this trope as a testimony to the rarity of the oracles. If so, these could communicate the high value of books known only by mention. The same could be said of the final story that Lactantius highlights in this connection, when he claims that one thousand verses of the Erythraean sibyl’s oracles were won for Rome by military conquest (Divine Institutes I.6.14). These were lost, but later found (even conquered!) once more. In these latter cases, the inherent fragility of the sibyl’s oracles is frequently resolved by the actions of others. But, loss, destruction, and corruption follow the sibyl elsewhere.

Sibylline loss in Greco-Roman sources

In other cases of this trope, an important aspect of the discourse observed thus far is missing: the prefatory function. While the sibylline prologue, the Theosophy, and the Divine Institutes are each in their own way introducing selections of oracles and ensuring that they are read properly, these other ancient sources tend to write about the sibyls in different contexts. Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Roman Antiquities IV.62.1–6), Pliny the Elder (Natural History XIII.88), and Aulus Gellius (Attic Nights I.19) each tell a version of the story of the Cumaean sibyl’s destruction of her own books of oracles. But, none of these authors introduce a single oracular pronouncement in that setting. The sibylline books were and remain books known only by mention. Dionysius shares the story as an important achievement in Tarquinius Superbus’ reign. ⁴² Pliny relates the tale as an addendum to an extended discussion of paper and the destruction of the books of Numa. Because Gellius’ work is a loose collection of curiosities, it does not lend itself to a close examination of context. But, as the passage on the sibyl is situated between two (otherwise unrelated) notes drawn from Marcus Varro’s writings, the story’s source would seem to be the most likely principle for its setting in the work.

Both Gellius and Dionysius share several aspects of the account already observed in the Divine Institutes. They relate the destruction of the books to a perception of the sibyl’s frenzied state and link the imposed scarcity of the oracles to an increase in their monetary value. Gellius, like Lactantius, does not have the king read the oracles at all. He closes with a note that the three books the king purchased were put in a shrine and consulted concerning the well-being of Rome. The impression in the Attic Nights, then, is much the same as with Lactantius. The sibyl’s enthusiasm both proves the oracles’ authenticity and puts them at risk. Dionysius’ account shares this perspective but provides several more details that change the discourse around sibylline destruction. In his version, the king still never reads the final three books, but he does consult augurs about the significance of the books. They confirm the value and direct the king to pay the woman the original price she asked for all nine books (Roman Antiquities IV.62.3). Thus, while value does increase with the destruction brought by the crazed woman, it is also confirmed by other divinatory figures. Dionysius goes on to relate a number of anecdotes about the sibylline books generally displaying their great worth to the Roman people (Roman Antiquities IV.62.4–5). But, he concludes this episode by mentioning that these sibylline books were destroyed when the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus was burned by fire in the Marsian war. That is, all of those Sibylline Oracles are books known only by mention. Dionysius adds that the ones that still exist in his time have been scraped together from around the world, but that many are found to be interpolations (Roman Antiquities IV.62.6). So, when Dionysius performs the trope of sibylline destruction, he introduces many of the marks familiar from other accounts. His story depicts oracles that are cherished by the Roman people, but also prone to destruction, dispersion, and interpolation. Pliny’s account is the outlier among these three in that he relates both the destruction by the sibyl of two of her three (!) books, and the later burning of the third in the time of Sulla. But, he does not take interest in any details of the story, and makes no remarks about the significance of the oracles.

The discussions of later episodes of sibylline destruction and corruption by Dionysius and Pliny are not unique. Pliny’s somewhat younger contemporaries Tacitus and Suetonius both proliferate this trope in their accounts of events in Rome. In Tacitus’ Annals VI.12, he writes of an occasion when a tribune of the plebeians attempted to introduce a new sibylline book to the collection held in Rome. The story notes that the emperor Tiberius is critical of this endeavor because it does not follow normal practice. As part of Tiberius’ criticism, he reminds his addressee that there are many apocryphal sibylline works, and for that reason, any newly found sibylline book should be submitted to the body of 15 experts charged with the safekeeping of the authentic works as a means of determining their authenticity. In Tacitus’ account, Tiberius continues by recalling that private ownership of sibylline books was made illegal by Augustus precisely because of the fakes. The emperor states that the practice of submitting oracles to the 15 experts for verification was already in place when the oracles were collected from around the world after the burning of the Capitol during the social war. Here, even as Tacitus recounts one relatively minor event in the history of the Roman state, he provides another instance of destruction, corruption, and concealing associated with Sibylline Oracles. He even provides an ongoing reason for why these books are known only by mention. As is the case with Pliny, the story in Annals does not take an interest either in promoting the oracles worth, or in their connection to enthusiastic speech. One might argue that the discourse even moves in the opposite direction by placing the oracles in the discerning hands of the state, and taking a skeptical stance toward their veracity. However, it is clear that one of the reasons for the state custody is that the books known only by mention are thought to have spawned new, but dubious, material works.

The same is true of Suetonius in his Life of Augustus. During his discussion of Augustus’ activities upon taking the office of pontifex maximus, Suetonius relates that the emperor collected and burned two thousand Greek and Latin prophetic writings that had been circulated anonymously or attributed to authors of low esteem. Suetonius continues that only some portion of the sibylline books were retained after this cull. He writes that Augustus placed those that were left in the pedestal of the temple of Apollo on the Palatine (Augustus 31.1). Through this episode, Suetonius makes clear that the sibyl’s books are esteemed above other prophecies. But they are beset by corruption, destruction, and secrecy nonetheless. It is once more an institution of the Roman state that forcibly discriminates between what is authentic and false, destroying the former and concealing the latter. The sibyl’s books are effectively known only by mention either way. They entice audiences with their potential, but never need to fully deliver.

An even later instance of the destruction of sibylline books comes late in the life of the western empire. The Latin poet Rutilius Claudius Namatianus, who witnessed a sack of Rome in the early fifth-century C.E., writes of the books of the sibyls in his fragmentary poem De reditu suo. ⁴³ In this passage, he describes how the Vandal general of the Roman army, Stilicho, betrayed Rome by attacking it and burning the sibylline books (De reditu suo II.52–60). He likens Stilicho’s crime to several well-known familial murders in the mythic past. The catalog of crimes culminates with the judgment that this destruction of the books of the sibyls is worse than Nero’s killing of his own mother, because Stilicho has murdered the mother of the world. Namatianus’ poem ties up the destruction of the sibylline books with the fate of Rome itself. Their loss symbolizes for him the ultimate ruin of the city. This artistic flourish enacts the link between Sibylline Oracles and Roman political destiny already observed in the sibylline prologue (Sib. Or. Pr. 70–71), the Theosophy (Th. III.46–48), Lactantius (Divine Institutes I.6.13), Gellius (Attic Nights I.19.10–11), and Dionysius (Roman Antiquities IV.62.1,3–5) by envisioning their ends as inextricably intertwined. ⁴⁴ In this case, instead of the sibyl’s books only telling of the fortunes of the city, their destruction becomes the city’s. This image acts as the opposite bookend to the Cumaean sibyl’s role in the founding myth of Rome, as told in Aeneid VI.42–97. Just as a sibylline oracle brings Rome into being, the destruction of her oracles coincides with its fall. In this portion of Namatianus’ poem, then, an additional episode of sibylline loss becomes the focus. But, that loss continues to underscore the oracles’ significance to the Roman state to such an extent that they are synonymous. The books known only by mention mirror the empire known only by mention.

This survey illustrates a widespread idea in antiquity that the sibyl’s oracles are fragile. Sometimes, the sibyl’s words are put at risk by her own enthusiastic frenzy. While the sibyl’s ecstatic state may verify that the oracles are authentic, it also places them at risk. The sibyl cannot remember her words. She cannot communicate clearly. She can even participate in the destruction of her books. But, this is only one obstacle to the successful transmission of the sibyl’s words. Another source of trouble comes from those who are responsible for writing down and copying her oracles. They misremember. They corrupt. They willingly interpolate and forge the sibyl’s words. Still more loss comes to the sibyl from the very people who are meant to curate her oracles. These men misattribute her books, hide them from public view, and even willingly set them on fire. Loss, destruction, and corruption greet the sibyl at every link in the chain of transmission. This topos cuts across rhetorical context, cultic affiliation, and historical era. No matter the setting, the sibyl’s books are at risk of being known only by mention. But, why is it so difficult for the sibyl to pass on her oracles? Why do these stories of loss so closely trail behind her?

Sibylline loss and pedagogical ideals of reproduction

When one examines the literary depictions of pedagogical settings in the ancient Mediterranean and Near East, an intriguing answer emerges. These scenes frequently cast teachers, students, and curricula in an idealized perspective. As a result, these constructed pedagogical moments reveal the values and ideals associated with the transmission of knowledge, even as they fail to provide evidence for how education actually took place. ⁴⁵

A formative study in understanding these scenes is Carol Newsom’s essay, “Woman and the Discourse of Patriarchal Wisdom,” in which she has pointed out the importance of the “minimal fiction” established by the pedagogical setting of Proverbs 1–9. ⁴⁶ This minimal fiction, among other things, sets up the lesson in Proverbs 1–9 as the privileged spoken words of a father to his silent, and therefore obedient, son. Furthermore, Newsom remarks that the use of the first-person pronoun by the speaker and the second person pronoun for the addressee inserts the reader in the role of the obedient student/son. This type of address thereby encourages the reader to heed the authoritative voice of the father in the same way as the fictional addressee. ⁴⁷ Newsom’s discovery is important because it reveals how even minimal narrative framing might serve to authorize a particular set of instructional claims. But it is even more impactful because it shows that, at least in this case, the patriarchal household is the ideal setting in which teaching will be successfully obeyed and preserved. ⁴⁸ A spoken address from father to son is the constructed ideal. It draws on the social authority a father has over a son in such a setting and calls on the reader to obey the assertions of the ostensible father in the same way, thereby looking after them. ⁴⁹

Following Newsom, Benjamin Wright has generalized the claim by noting that the motif of a father passing down knowledge to his sons appears broadly throughout early Jewish literature. ⁵⁰ Wright sees the motif in the testamentary literature, 1 Enoch, Ben Sira, and among various “wisdom” works at Qumran. He goes on to provide examples of texts wherein a sage who has no obvious biological relationship to his disciples nevertheless employs the language and persona of a father addressing his silent sons. ⁵¹ The ubiquity of this trope thus discloses the rhetorical force such a setting has, and thereby builds the case that a patriarchal framework for education was in some sense idealized. Wright adds nuance to this argument by noting that particularly in testamentary texts, in addition to the use of first- and second-person pronouns, the reader is often drawn to obey through the father’s command to transmit his teachings to future generations, even, at times, in the written medium. This command implicitly positions the reader in the genealogical line of transmission and constructs the reader as a descendant of the teacher–father with all the same obligations as those directly addressed. The connection is made all the stronger by the physical possession of the manuscript, which has ostensibly been transmitted through the generations. ⁵² The reader thus becomes the silent son being addressed and must preserve and pass on this legacy to his own silent and obedient children. ⁵³

Jacqueline Vayntrub has pushed this argument even further by noting that such scenes of trans-generational instruction are found throughout the corpus of Near Eastern instructional texts and are critical to properly understanding the genre. She suggests that these depictions of fathers teaching sons are necessary for ensuring to the reader that the contents of instruction actually work. ⁵⁴ The argument is that if the knowledge survived through multiple generations, it must have been found worthwhile for those who chose to pass it on to their children. Vayntrub further asserts that it is no accident that the fathers are usually identifiable as luminaries of the past because the success these figures had in life further establishes the value of the knowledge they transmit. ⁵⁵ These two framing devices combine with those pointed out by Newsom and Wright to not only cast the reader in the role of student, but also confirm to the reader that the value of this knowledge has been proven over and over again through the type of secure oral and written transmission portrayed in the text.

These studies show that a central goal of pedagogy in this Near Eastern and early Jewish setting is to reproduce the paradigmatic father by securely transferring his knowledge and success to the next generation. The son is to become the father and be identified with him from generation to generation. ⁵⁶ This set of patriarchal values is not limited to Mesopotamian and Jewish circles. As Vigdis Songe-Møller has argued in the case of the Symposium, philosophy, the attainment of truth, becomes the highest form of reproduction in the context of Plato’s thought. Philosophy, for Plato, reproduces the truth and begets likeness and identity with it. ⁵⁷ This idea of reproduction ultimately desires immortality, like sexual reproduction. However, it is more successful in its quest because it actually participates in the eternal, rather than helplessly feigning it by the type of production of which the corruptible body is capable. Importantly, Songe-Møller shows that this ideal is expressed to the exclusion of women. They play no part in the reproduction that is realized through the attainment of truth. ⁵⁸

Set against this background, it becomes clear that the transmission of Sibylline Oracles is disordered from the start. Rather than beginning with a famed patriarchal figure whose rich biography shows him to have lived a successful life, the oracles begin with a relatively anonymous woman. At times, her identity is a complete mystery, as the stories in Gellius’ Attic Nights XIX.2, 9, Pliny’s Natural History XIII.88, and Dionysius’ Roman Antiquities IV.62.2, 4, indicate. The sibyl in these accounts is completely unknown when she arrives on the scene and disappears forever immediately after she sells the remaining books. This anonymous and mysterious aspect of the sibyl is even exploited to great effect in the Shepherd of Hermas (Herm. Vis. 2.4.1 [8.1]), where the titular character misidentifies the woman as the sibyl, presumably because he knows little about either the prophetess or the sibyl. On other occasions, a thin biography is assembled, as in the catalogs of sibyls transmitted by Lactantius (Divine Institutes I.6.7–12), the Theosophy III.7–27, and lines 29–50 of the prologue of the Sibylline Oracles. These biographical details both concretize the sibyl’s presence in history and create canons of sibyls through history. Yet, they hardly provide the sibyl with a prosperous life story attesting to her success, or even dwell too much on the accuracy of her prophetic speech. ⁵⁹ Only the Cumaean sibyl comes with some more extensive biographical detail in her story as told by Lactantius, the Theosophy, and the sibylline prologue. But, even in these cases she can only show herself to be an unsuccessful teacher. So, the sibyl remains a mystery. The paradigmatic role she is meant to play as tradent of knowledge is lost.

Equally important, however, is her lack of clear audience. Whereas ideal pedagogical audiences are populated with intellectual and biological descendants to carry on the patriarchal legacy, the accounts of the sibyl leave her devoid of students. As is obvious from the above survey, the only followers she does have are remarkable for their inability to pass on her teachings. They dismiss her significance. They cannot accurately record her speech. They deny access to her oracles. They even burn her books again and again. Interestingly, the oracles one encounters in the anthology now known as the Sibylline Oracles correct this problem. The oracles one finds in the φ family of manuscripts employ the I-you address that enlists the reader as a disciple of the sibyl (Sib. Or. 1:2–6; 3:6–8; 4:1–4). This suggests that the poetics of teaching being suggested here should hold for oracles too. However, it is entirely lacking in the depictions of sibyls in the act of transmission.

With little biography and no audience, the sibyl’s ability to successfully transmit her teaching is bound to fail. The ancient ideal of pedagogy is about reproducing oneself in the next generation. The sibyl lacks any identity to reproduce. She also lacks effective offspring. In fact, among the various stories of the sibyl, there is only one tradition that ties her to any biological children whatsoever. In the canons of sibyls produced by the Theosophy (III.17–18) and the prologue to the Sibylline Oracles (Sib. Or. Pr. 39–41), the Cimmerian sibyl is said to be the mother of Evander. Otherwise, the sibyl is usually depicted as a virgin. Vergil refers to her as “virgo” at Aeneid VI.46, 104, and 318. More provocatively, in Metamorphoses XIV.123–153, Ovid has the sibyl tell a story to Aeneas about how she got to be so old by refusing to give up her virginity to Apollo. These narratives illustrate that the sibyl is an anomaly when compared with idealized teaching figures in antiquity. She lacks a life from which to draw her lessons. She is missing a proper audience through which she can produce descendants. And, she is a woman.

This last aspect of the sibyl’s character is significant, both for ideals of patriarchal reproduction, and for ancient reproductive science. In idealized pedagogical settings, women and other non-male figures are routinely excluded from the scene. There are exceptions, but these are very few. ⁶⁰ Women are infrequently either performing teaching functions, or acting as students in the ancient pedagogical landscape. They do not seem to be able to reproduce their parents, or be reproduced by their children. This, in part, is connected to the lack of authority a woman held in households and other educational settings of the ancient Mediterranean and Near East. She could not command the type of respect a man could in such a patriarchal setting. ⁶¹ But I suggest that it also connects with ancient reproductive science.

Various works from ancient Rome, Greece, and the Levant communicate the idea that women do not reproduce themselves when they conceive and give birth. Rather, these texts show that men are thought to possess reproductive potential, while women are largely passive in the reproductive process. Because of this, some schools of thought in the ancient Mediterranean and Near East deny that women could actually transmit their traits to future generations. In such models, the process of reproduction, especially in terms of identity, is dependent on male potency. Because of the already established link between pedagogy and reproduction in Greco-Roman and Near Eastern contexts, I suggest that this aspect of ancient reproductive science informs the apparent inability for women to act effectively as matriarchs over chains of transmission of both knowledge and self.

According to Anna Rebecca Solevåg, who has thoroughly analyzed ancient theories of reproduction in her book, Birthing Salvation: Gender and Class in Early Christian Childbearing Discourse, four distinct ancient models of reproduction dominate the scientific discourse. These are the Hippocratic model, the Aristotelian model, and the models of Galen and Soranus of Ephesus. ⁶² In the Hippocratic model, men and women both contribute seed to create the fetus, and therefore, both reproduce themselves in some sense. ⁶³ Galen’s model also admits that women produce seed useful for generation, but the creative principle resides solely in the male seed. ⁶⁴ For Aristotle, women only contribute the fertile soil in which the male seed can grow. ⁶⁵ Their menstrual blood, in essence, is conceived of as food for the embryo. ⁶⁶ Soranus, like Aristotle, also holds a complex belief that women produced seed that is nevertheless useless for reproduction. Instead, it is the active male seed that finds a welcome place in the uterus, where it can coagulate into the form of an embryo. ⁶⁷ This range of ideas about procreation suggests a variety of ideas that demonstrate a widespread notion that women are not active participants in reproduction.

These ideas are not confined to the medical literature of the Greek and Roman elites. We also find evidence for this perspective in early Jewish literature. There, the context is not discussion of medical theories, but genealogical lineage. We see such examples in Genesis 11.10–31, 1 Chronicles 1.1–9.44, and Matt 1.2–17. In each of these cases, whether the descendants of Noah, the genealogy of Israel from the beginning of the world to the descendants of Saul, or the lineage from Abraham to Jesus, women are scarce. Although women are not entirely absent, they are not depicted as significant contributors to the story told by each genealogy. This relatively common trope in early Jewish literature suggests that whatever the biological notion of reproduction was, it did not manifest itself in women determining the identity of their offspring.

Therefore, a fundamental reason the sibyl is burdened by loss, destruction, and corruption of her oracles and books may be due to her inability to reproduce herself biologically in addition to her apparent deficiencies as an ideal teacher. This conclusion rests upon a notion that the two major paths to immortality in the Platonic and early Jewish senses are unavailable to the sibyl. She does not reproduce sexually and cannot successfully pass on her teachings. This, of course, is not the only theory of knowledge transmission in the literary world of ancient Judaism. The mother of king Lemuel in Proverbs 31.1 and the characterization of a disembodied female entity as wisdom in Proverbs 9, Wisdom 10, Sir 24, inter alia show this. How these theories interact is the subject of further research. In any case, the sibyl’s story does not end with her failure to pass on her knowledge. Despite the destruction and loss, the sibyl’s oracles constantly undergo, many stories insist on some form of survival. Perhaps, it is no coincidence that this survival is attributed to male tradents. After all, according to ancient pedagogical and biological science, it is men who are thought to possess the unique ability to reproduce themselves and their knowledge for future generations.