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Friday, September 04, 2026

Are Hindu "Miracles" like Christian Miracles?

Christian apologists are liable to opposite errors: (1) Blind dogmatism: to fail to listen to opponents, recognize nuance, or ever concede anything, and (2) Blind conciliation: to concede to opposing arguments too quickly, without first coming to grips with the rich tradition of Christian thought on a given topic.

I'm afraid the young philosopher Seth Hart makes the latter error in his argument "The Glaring Problem with the Argument From Miracles: Bad logic, incomplete arguments, and the strange case of Prahlad Jani."

Hart is an Associate Professor of Biblical Studies and Theology at John Brown University.  He recently received his PhD from Durham U, and has also studied at Oxford and at Regent College.  What he has not apparently done is read my book, Jesus and the Religions of Man, and maybe not C.S. Lewis' much more famous Miracles, either.  If he had, he should not have made the arguments against the evidentiary value of Christian miracles that he did.  Because frankly, it does not appear to me that Dr. Hart has a very clear idea of what a miracle is, yet.  His argument seems somewhat tentative, so hopefully he'll be open to these opposing arguments.  


The Case

Hart begins by saying he "advocates" miracle claims, and is open to using them as fodder for Christian apologetics.  But his research on "eastern spirituality and miracle claims" have placed a bump in that road. 

I've been studying Asian religions for decades, including a "miracle-working" Buddhist guru for my MA, so I'll be happy to help him over that speed bump, if possible.  Though let me say from the outset that I regard the term "eastern religion" as misleading.  East is a direction, not a doctrine nor a set of practices.  Chinese traditions have little more connection to Indian traditions, despite Buddhism, than either do to European traditions.  Never mind many other great civilizations and tribes in Asia, and the complexity of European and American beliefs. 

But when it comes to the wonder workings of famous gurus, Hart is talking about something pretty common in East and West.  He reports: 


"In 2010, a scientific team of 35 researchers at the Indian Defence Institute of Physiology and Allied Sciences (DIPAS) undertook one of the most controversial studies ever done. Eighty-year-old Prahlad Jani claimed to have been visited by the goddess Amba; the goddess, in return for his devotion, would sustain him with nectar he claimed flowed through a hole in the roof of his mouth. Thus, he could survive without food or water. That, at least, was his claim—a claim that could be tested."

The team placed Jani under constant observations for two weeks in a hospital, under the gaze of CCTV cameras and a "large multidisciplinary team of scientists and physicians."  After fifteen days: 

"He had not eaten, drunk, defecated, or urinated—something seemingly impossible for any human being. Moreover, his body didn’t even seem to offer any evidence that he was fasting."

Hart recognizes some apparent flaws in the study: Jani gargled, bathed, sometimes left the CCTV field of view, and received devotees.  But he thinks these flaws poorly explain the results, and put Christian apologists in a bind: 

"There is an ironic twist here, for the Christian cannot demand less skepticism here than they’ve resented skeptics demanding of them.

"Now, do I believe Jani survived fifteen days without food and water? I’m not sure. Given my Christian convictions and the background of Hindu religiosity that colors this account, it certainly causes me to sweat. The most obvious, knee-jerk reaction would be an appeal to the demonic. Didn’t Jannes and Jambres duplicate the miracles of Moses? However, I feel deeply uncomfortable about such appeals; couldn’t the adherent of another religion surmise that the miracles supporting my religion were the products of dark, deceptive spirits?"

Seth then points to Catholic "miracles" at Lourdes, Fatima, and Zeitoun, which he says he found "intriguing," and says "they together form a bulwark of evidence that might buckle the knees of even the most confident Protestant." 

But it is especially hard for a Catholic to deal with such "miracles," Seth asserts: 

"Ones like Jani’s cannot so easily be accommodated, as they involve pagan deities. Nor could the Catholic simply take the skeptic’s approach. Jani’s experiment was done in a controlled scientific environment—a privilege not held by most of Catholicism’s most famous miracles (and, to be fair, the same could be said of Protestant miracles). To exercise this level of skepticism would, at the very least, risk special pleading . . . If Jani’s inedia was the product of demons, could not also the same be said of Catherine of Siena, St. Lidwina, Saint Nicholas von Flüe, Therese Neumann, and the Venerable Domenica dal Paradiso, who all reportedly achieved the same feat?"

"I've met a growing number of Eastern-minded thinkers who fully affirm the bodily resurrection of Christ yet would call themselves closer to Hindus. Eastern religions often have the ability to accommodate competing religions’ miracle claims in a way Christianity does not. So have Catholics introduced a new standard of evidence to determine the true faith—one they’ll later learn to regret?

"I have not seen this question answered—nor much addressed—in these conversations, though perhaps I am wrong." 

I don't know what conversations those might be.  But let me address this challenge.  I will begin by briefly describing my own research on a miracle-working "eastern" guru.  


A Living Buddha for Bill Gates? 


I first heard about the Taiwanese Buddhist Lu Shengyan, sometimes called a "living Buddha" by his disciples, from a couple who had joined his temple, and were convinced about the reality of the supernatural events occurring at it, but then became concerned that the sect was growing demonic.  They left and became Christians.  I decided to study his "True Buddha" movement for my MA at the University of Washington, under the supervision of the anthropologist Stevan Harrell, an atheist.  This was convenient, because while Lu's network was international, his head temple was in Redmond, Washington, about a kilometer from Microsoft, and within driving distance of our house in North Seattle.  (Though his fancy mansion, which I also visited once for a dramatic meeting, was past North Bend, near the mountains.)  

Lu Shengyan attempted to "leak the secrets of Heaven:" to take esoteric Buddhism, the sort practiced in Tibet, and make it publicly available.  He had written over 100 books leaking those secrets by the time I did my research.   I read several, in English or Chinese, and found they shared the following qualities: (1) they were lively and well-written, with a Zhuang Zi-like sense of humor; (2) they were chock full of miracle claims, such as the time Lu rebuked the god of Mount Rainier for a drought, and then it rained; (3) they consistently exalted Lu, while some of the sect's materials attacked rival gurus.  Indeed, when Lu arrived at his temple one day, I found I was the only one who didn't fall to the ground before him.  

When I interviewed followers of the sect, they related many supernatural stories, of how Lu had saved them, or taught them by telepathy.  An atheist Chinese mailman told me Lu was a con man who was in it for the women, while a Zen Buddhist nun told me he wasn't a good Buddhist because he ate meat.  But the anecdotal evidence for supernatural events in his circle might pretty strong on its own -- it even convinced two people who left, as I noted.  

But my face-to-face encounters with Lu Shengyan did NOT make me "sweat."  I didn't find his act convincing.  In fact, I ended my research on his movement not only with my faith intact, but my confidence in Christian miracles strengthened.    

Nor does the story of Mr. Jani bother me in the slightest, aside from the troubling fact that some people find his act troubling.  

I explained why I find Christ's acts so much more persuasive than those the likes of Lu Shengyan work in two chapters of Jesus and the Religions of Man.  (Which I need to update for Amazon, and can only be obtained directly, now.)  Let us begin with that word "miracle."  Because I don't think either man did any miracles. I was inclined to side with the atheist post man, and dismiss Lu Shengyan as a colorful, story-telling con man.  But feel free to add the adjective "demonized" if you prefer.


What is a Miracle? 

 In my 2000 book, Jesus and the Religions of Man, I argued that there are two kinds of alleged supernatural events, which I call "Miracle" and "Magic."  Miracles are what you find in the gospels and in the Christian tradition at its most credible.  Some Christian miracle claims, sorry to say, I do not find credible.  But maybe God works outside of the Church on occasion, too: "He is not a tame lion."  Magic is found almost everywhere, and is often conflated with Miracle, but the two are nothing alike.  They are distinguished by five contrasting traits: 

"1. Miracles ask to be verified: Magic insults the intelligence. 

"2. Miracles tend to be practical: Magic is often showy. 

"3. Miracles enhance human dignity: Magic makes us more or less than human. 

"4. Miracles point to God: Magic points elsewhere. 

"5. Miracles come in response to requests; Magic to demands." 

I developed these criteria in view of personal and second-hand experiences with and historical study of allegedly supernatural acts.  I give many examples in those two chapters.  They generally agree with other accounts of miracles, for instance Craig Keener's three books on the subject, a book by Eric Metaxis, and with C. S. Lewis' more theoretical Miracles: A Preliminary Study.  So there is nothing ad hoc about applying these criteria to a new Hindu guru.    

It is clear, on four of these criteria, that Jani's alleged failure to drink or urinate for two weeks was not a "miracle" at all.  It was a show with no practical value: he wasn't trying to make his way through the Sahara Desert to save a friend, for instance.  God created the urinary track for a reason.  Not using it makes Jani either more than or less than human, implying that the normal functions of the human body like are embarrassing, or that failure to use them lends one psychic power (as we will see).  These accounts do not mention God, but glorify either Jani himself, or the alleged goddess Amba (again, see below).  There is no sense of existential need followed by a request for help, like that of Elijah, or of many missionaries faced with trials.  Jesus fasted in the wilderness to pray, but his miracles often involved feeding the hungry.   

What about verification?  Isn't this experiment an elaborate and unusually careful attempt to rationally support the supernatural powers of Jani or Amba? 

More so than most magical tricks, granted, though magic acts do often pretend to be rationally verified, even while the audience knows the magician is up to some sleight of hand.  James Randi, one such performer, apparently offered Jani a million dollars if he could reproduce this trick under controlled conditions.  (Randi's challenge makes sense for magic, which arises from the will of the magician, but cannot work for miracles, in which God is in control, and cannot be bribed.)

And does it really follow that if an old man fails to drink or urinate for two weeks, the goddess Amba must be sustaining him?  Even the missionary doctor Paul Brand was impressed by the ability Hindu holy men had developed to control the body.  Others will suspect a trick -- he garbled, but did not drink anything?  He took baths, but never let anything out?  What was he doing off-camera?  Were one or more of those reputable physicians in his pay?   


And who is Amba?  A rejected woman in a mythical story, who sought to gain magical powers by austerity in order to wreak revenge on an enemy, and then was turned part-time into a twisting river with crocodiles by her enemy's mother, Ganga.  Here's part of the Wikipedia account, with key points highlighted: 

"Amba gave up food and sleep, and practised asceticism standing still for six months in the Yamuna river valley, surviving only on air. She became emaciated and developed matted locks. After that, she stood in the waters of the Yamuna, without food and practiced austerities. After that, she spent time standing on her tip toes, having eaten only one fallen leaf of a tree. Her penance for twelve years started burning the heavens and the earth. She then went to Vatsa kingdom, in which many renowned sages lived. She roamed the kingdom, bathing in the sacred waters of the Ganges (Ganga) and the Yamuna. Then, she visited the ashrams of many sages . . .  as well as sacred sites . . .. During her journey, she observed difficult vows and performed ablutions in the holy waters.

"The goddess Ganga appeared before Amba and listened to Amba's tale that her austerities were aimed to destroy Bhishma, Ganga's son. The angry goddess Ganga replied that since Amba's mind was crooked, she would become a crooked and tortuous river, which will remain dry for eight months and flow in the four months of the rainy season. Ganga declared that the bathing places along the river's course would be in difficult terrain, and it will be infested with crocodiles and other fierce creatures. Amba wandered practicing severe vows and forgoing food and water for months. She visited many tirthas in this time and finally returned to Vatsa, where Ganga's curse materialized. Though half of her became the river Amba, the other half remained human, due to her ascetic merit."

Indian mythology is full of such stories.  Nothing could be less like the miracles of Jesus in the gospels, along all five criteria listed above.  This tale is poetic, but not (to me) in the slightest bit believable.  There is, in fact, no reason to believe that this "Amba" is more than a minor character in a famous ancient Indian epic, like one of the tragic females in accounts of the fall of Troy.  She is, in that story, a pure magician, gathering magical powers through austerity to destroy her enemy.  

So at most, claims about Jani partly meet only one out of five criteria for a true miracle, and probably not that one, either.  It may be impressive if some old man has developed the ability to not urinate for two weeks while also not drinking anything.  But I am not a doctor, and really don't care.  Perhaps one comes to see peeing in a more positive light as one grows older.  

And if this does require supernatural action, then the "traditional Christian" response that it must be demonic actually fits the facts rather well.  Amba is not a nice person.  If she is now a minor goddess of some sort, well that is literally what daemon meant in Greek.  Even taken quite literally and (I might add) gullibly, this story in no way conflicts with or undermines the truth of Christianity, or the redemption Jesus really did bring to India, told in detail by the likes of Vishal and Ruth Mangalwadi.  

Like those of Lu Shengyan, Jani's story does not even slightly incline me to believe in Amba, or in the goodness of either guru, or to doubt true Christian miracles.  In fact, such stories -- which are pretty common, even in the Christian tradition -- serve to highlight the credibility of Christianity, for three reasons: 

1. By contrast, true miracles are not arbitrary.  They fit, Lewis pointed out, within the pattern of Creation by a rational God as seen in Nature.  What God does in Nature on a large scale, Jesus did locally.  Jesus feeds the hungry, he does not magically make bodies no longer need food or drink.  That is what God does through the fecundity of Nature, feeding us all through the Earth's crops.  

2. How is it that scholars keep overlooking the obvious qualities of Christian miracles?  Some New Testament scholars compare the gospels to the Life of Apollonius of Tyana or (for Bart Ehrman) to the Polish rabbi Baal Shem Tov.  (See my Jesus is No Myth for a refutation of Ehrman's arguments.)  These gurus do magic, not miracle.   Their tricks are arbitrary and impractical, I show (it doesn't take much showing), glorify gurus not God, make us less than human (Baal is reincarnated as a fish!), and get their way by magical displays of power, not prayer.  

British philosopher Stephen Law, with whom I have crossed swords on this subject, made exactly the same mistake.  (I respond to his pushback here and here.)  He tells a fanciful story about one Bart (no known relation to Bart Ehrman or Simpson), who flaps his arms and flies at a party in Oxford, for no clear reason but to show off, and compares that to gospel miracles.  This only shows that he has not read gospel accounts of miracles with much perception.  It seems neither has Bart Ehrman, despite his real expertise.  

But the fact that so many skeptics, and even Christians, overlook the yawning gaps between Miracles and Magic, tells us something about the weakness of skepticism when confronted with the gospels.  If there were better parallels, they would have found them, because people like Ehrman, Pagels, and Carrier do read a lot.  If they were more observant, they would not make such comparisons.  But we are enveloped in a fog of blinding materialism, which sometimes obscures the vision of Christians as well.  

(3) The gospels and other early Christian accounts (Acts, even Augustine's stories) are remarkably coherent in how they describe miracles.  Nearly all such acts clearly fit the definition I give above, while apocryphal tales of Jesus resemble magic, as do stories about Apollonius of Tyana.  Miracles from reliable modern missionaries also tend to fit the Gospel pattern.  

Given that highly-educated scholars so often overlook this distinction, it seems unlikely that the early Christians all got together and made up the gospel accounts, carefully filling them with just the sort of supernatural event that Lewis or I would find striking a couple thousand years later, while leaving out this other, far more popular sort.  It is more likely that such miracles are, in fact, traces of divine action in history. 

If God acts, His actions will not be arbitrary, any more than the laws of physics are arbitrary, but will fit into a larger creative pattern.  "The gods" are often silly creatures, and might I suppose do something as meaningless as helping an old man not pee to impress the Indian Army brass.  But if India gets into another fight with the PLA in the Himalaya Mountains, I'd advise them to bring canteens, and build latrines.  Because generally speaking, I think God wants us to plan around the laws he has made for His cosmos, and not thumb our noses at the Laws of Nature to show off.  A desperate prayer in a time of need, may be another matter. Brother Yun tells stories of similar miracles when he was imprisoned.  His account may also have been invented, but it comes closer to meeting my definition of "miracle" because that was practical and glorified God.   

I have other reasons for disbelieving Hinduism, and therefore marginal Hindu deities out of epic mythology like Amba.  But that is a topic for another day.  


Hart's Argument in Brief

Seth Hart ends by offering the following abbreviated version of his argument.  I'll quote his final comments in full, then give an also-brief reply, lettered a-h. 

"1) If miracles (a) occur that seemingly validate certain religious claims (b, c), we are warranted in believing in those religious claims (d)."
a.  "Miracle" needs to be better defined, as above. 
b. "Claims" are "validated" on the strength of both historical evidence AND prior probability.  Some supernatural claims are far more credible a priori than others.  A claim may be so improbable a priori -- such as the existence of Amba, or the goodness of Mohammed or Kim Jong-un -- that even an otherwise convincing miracle need not persuade a reasonable person. 
c. Anyway, how would failure to pee prove the existence of a goddess from an ancient Indian epic?  This seems a bit of a non sequitur.   

d. Miracles would, if they occur, certainly make the existence of a supernatural realm, or God, far more likely.  But other explanations can cover any phenomenon, such as the idea that we live in a computer simulation.  So validation can never take us so far as absolute proof.  Faith should not be blind, but an element of trust is necessary to know God -- or even other people.  

"2) Miracles occur that seemingly validate certain religious claims.

"3) Therefore, we are warranted in believing those religious claims.

"Premise 1 is arguably satisfied by other religious claims—those that are incompatible with Christianity. (e)  Appealing to deception by spiritual beings undermines premise 1, thus damaging the argument. (f)  Accepting the two premises would seemingly entail embracing something other than orthodox Christianity to account for these miracles (like religious pluralism). (g) The last resource would be to undermine miracle claims emerging in other religions, but this risks special pleading without demonstrating that every single one fails to satisfy the same evidential benchmark reached by Christian miracle claims. (h) As far as I am aware (i), we have not come close to this. This is not to say that it can’t be done but only that it hasn’t.

e. In a lifetime of studying world religions, I have seen little evidence that any non-Christian religion offers convincing evidence for genuine miracles comparable to those in the gospels.  Master Lu, when I tested him, failed.   

f. The argument here seems to be that if some supernatural events involve evil spirits, then maybe they all do.  But we differentiate on the mundane level between honest and dishonest people.  Given that we live in a world that follows laws, and that science demonstrates we can know those laws, it follows that something or Somone stands behind natural events that can be trusted, who shows integrity, and which is greater than mere "spiritual beings." So the traditional Christian distinction between God and common spirits is hard to avoid, even if this experiment was valid.  

g. I describe the deep, I think irredeemable, flaws of Religious Pluralism in Fulfillment: A Christian Model of Religions, Chapter Eight.  

h. Hart has not considered the possibility that God may heal people, or do other acts of mercy or judgement, outside of the Christian revelation.  But why should Christians assume that God never hears the prayers of a desperate Buddhist with a sick daughter?  Or of an oppressed people?  

I find both the "con man" and "demonizing" hypotheses for Lu Shengyan's show more plausible than that God truly worked through such a vessel, to be sure. 

But Christianity is ultimately a package deal.   Jesus' miracles are credible not only because of their character and the evidence behind them, but because of His character, and because of much else in the world that points to the salvation which He brought.  (And which can be historically verified, as I try to do in How Jesus has Liberated Women.)  

Hinduism is incredible, to me, not merely because this or that guru seems like a con man or in league with dark powers, but because the whole system seems worldly at best, ungodly at worst.  But these patterns of evidence and reasoning reinforce one another.

i. And Seth admits he is not very aware of what Christians have said about this subject.  Hopefully this exercise has suggested other facts for him and others who ask this question, to take into account.  

Saturday, August 22, 2026

What is Religion?

What is "religion?" People argue about it all the time, but are we talking about the same thing? In this video, I cite a dozen or so scholars of or thinkers on religion, before explaining why I think Paul Tillich's "ultimate concern" is the best definition, and definitions that focus on the "substance" of belief -- God, the gods, Buddha, the Tao -- tend to be misleading.
I'm still working on improving the quality of these podcasts, both visual and audio. Bear with me, though, and I think you'll find this analysis interesting. Included: part of my interview with Rodney Stark, in which he offers a STARKLY different perspective.

Monday, July 27, 2026

Women in Ancient Greece


Christopher Nolan's block-buster Odyssey film has sparked much discussion about the role of women in ancient Greece, and whether Nolan's portrayal was accurate.  This is a topic I delved into in How Jesus has Liberated Women Part I: Before Christ.  Here is the first two thirds or so of Chapter 7, named after the Queen of Ithaca, to which Odysseus strives to return in the book and movie named after him. 


DM


Chapter Seven:  Penelope’s Long Wait: Greece and Rome

 

More than in Sumer or Egypt, diversity was the hallmark of Greek civilization.  With many islands and ports surrounded by mountains, Greece consisted of numerous isolated laboratories in which society tested how to organize itself.  Some of the boldest experiments were carried out in Sparta, which lent women a certain independence, even panache.[1]  In general, though, the Greco-Roman world, its “cultural capital” of Athens in particular, devalued women.  Elizabeth Barber puts it more strongly: “Women were virtually house prisoners” in Athenian society from shortly before Homer on.[2]  David Hamilton paints an almost unrelentingly negative picture of how Greek men treated women.[3]  However, he overlooks the sympathy many find in the playwright Euripides, and egalitarian (if sometimes batty) theories proffered by philosophers like Plato and Musonius Rufus.

Did Greek men like women?  Odd that the question has been asked, about a civilization that churned out generations of kids, and offered so many striking female portraits: Helen of Troy, Olympias, Penelope, Circe, Athena, Aphrodite, Antigone, Electra, the Furies, the Fates.  For a balanced view of where women stood in the Mediterranean world before Christ, let us follow the flow of Greco-Roman culture from myths, epic, and drama to philosophy, history, and law, then plunge into the nitty-gritty of the Roman Empire.  

Women in Greek Myth

The first woman in Greek mythology, Pandora (“all gifts”), has often been compared to Eve.  Entrusted with a jar containing the world’s plagues, she opened it, and loosed all troubles on humanity.  The poet Hesiod’s story differs from Genesis in that in it, the woman sins alone.  Also, men enjoyed a “Golden Age” before Zeus created woman (with help from other gods).  He made woman not to render man less lonely, but to punish him.  Indeed, in a biologically-challenged metaphor, Hesiod compared women to lazy drones that enjoy the labor of worker bees:

"In thatched hives bees feed the drones whose nature is to do mischief.  By day and throughout the day until the sun goes down the bees are busy and lay the white combs, while the drones stay at home . . . and reap the toil of others into their own bellies.  Even so Zeus who thunders on high made women to be an evil to mortal men, with a nature to do evil.”[4]

A poet from Greek’s Bronze Age pointed to a girl named Helen and said, “See!”  (Though that poet himself could not see, or read if he could see, his age having lost the art of letters.) 

Homer’s episodic account of the Trojan War proved a cultural watershed, like Moses’ tale of slavery in Egypt.  Scenes from the Trojan War and its aftermath were enacted before thousands in plays for the City Dionysus Festival in Athens.  Helen, the beautiful wife of Spartan King Menelaus, was seduced off to Troy.  A thousand ships followed, and battle raged for nine years.  Then the victors faced the wrath of the gods while sailing home, or relaxing in the tub once they arrived.  That wrath was, again, often communicated through females: witches, sirens, wives with new lovers and sharp knives.  (Though cyclops and coup-happy lovers were also implicated.)     

Hesiod says all this ruckus started with Eris, Goddess of Discord.  Snubbed at a heavenly wedding feast, she came anyway, tossing a golden apple to the ground on which (in later versions) was written, “to the most beautiful.”  Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena all made a grab for the fruit.  Zeus prudently declined to judge a beauty contest between his wife and two daughters, so Paris Prince of Troy was deputized.  Aphrodite promised him the most beautiful woman in the world if he picked her.  So female vanity, and mutual lust (the playwrights say Helen went gladly), got those thousand ships launched.

Later spin doctors, beginning with Herodotus, claimed Helen of Troy was a body double, the original having been spirited off to Egypt. [5]  No doubt also to save heroes the shame of suffering as cuckolds, Greek novels employed equally unlikely plot twists to save the heroine’s virginity when she was (as often) kidnapped by nominally rapacious pirates.[6]    

“Hellenism,” the civilization that grew from those city states after that epic battle, eventually colonized Egypt, where in the ruins of the famous lighthouse outside Alexandria, Euclid invented geometry, and Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the Earth. 

The poets peopled their world with goddesses and nymphs as well as gods and satyrs.  Goddesses could fight, seduce heroes heading home from war, or turn their crews into swine.  But as Euripides shows in Women of Troy (written as a prophecy of Athens’ own demise) and historians like Thucydides and Polybius describe, women often served as mere spoils of war.  They might lob missiles from upper rooms at invaders.  More often, they are said to have been sold into slavery with their children after conquest, after husbands and lovers were killed.  Even as lovers, women often played second fiddle to boys.     

In History of Ideas on Women: A Sourcebook, Rosemary Agonito cites a passage in Homer’s Odyssey in which Telemachus asks his mother Penelope to go inside and leave public matters to him as the newly-minted man in the family.  Samuel Butler translated that passage:

“Go, then, within the house and busy yourself with your daily duties, your loom, your distaff, and the ordering of your servants.  This bow is a man's matter, and mine above all others, for it is I who am master here.’”

To which Penelope meekly:

“Went wondering back into the house, and laid her son's saying in her heart.  Then going upstairs with her handmaids into her room, she mourned her dear husband till Minerva sent sweet sleep over her eyelids.”[7]

In 1975 the classicist Sarah Pomeroy wrote Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves which, despite its flamboyant title, was a generally judicious early work in Women’s Studies.  She pointed out that while Penelope and other women in Homer were constrained within female roles, there is no trace of misogyny in his epics, nor (as Helen shows) were women confined geographically.  She agreed with the consensus that in the transition to classical times, women grew more confined and despised in some male circles, especially in Athens and related cultures.  Almost three decades later she wrote Spartan Women, focusing on what even the ancients agreed to be the chief exception to Greek misogyny.   

Drama

Hesiod and Homer provided fodder for one of Greece’s most popular institutions: public dramas, sponsored by Athena and Dionysus, written by brilliant playwrights, watched by throngs.  Relations between the sexes were one of the hottest topics on stage.    

In Lysistrata, comedian Aristophanes tells how the women of Athens and other Greek states conspire to end war with Sparta by staging a sex strike.  They do so grudgingly.  (“We must do without sex altogether.”  “I won’t do it!  Let the war go on!”)  But despite defections, they seize the Acropolis.  The lead male sings the immortal line, “We can’t live with women, but we cannot live without them.”[8])  In the end, the women have their way, and peace between states (if not within households) dawns. 

“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die.”  Greek production reversed the order and proportion of this pastiche of biblical lines.  Three tragedies were shown (“die, die, die!”), followed by a satyr play (“be merry!”).  The only surviving example of the latter is a spoof on the story of Odysseus and the Cyclops by Euripides, in which a wine-slurping Silenus and his horny sons furtively support the clever mariner as he plots to blind the ogre who keeps them all captive – so they can enjoy sex again.    

But most extant plays are tragedies, written by Euripides and two other geniuses: Aeschylus and Sophocles.  

Sophocles tells the tragic tale of King Oedipus (fated to unknowingly kill his father and marry his mother) and his doomed children.  The most heroic figure in this trilogy is Antigone, the king’s daughter.  In Oedipus at Colonus, at great risk to herself, she leads her blind, exiled, and disgraced father from town to town, his only comfort and guide.  Harvard Hellenist Bernard Knox calls this “The one shaft of light in the dark universe of Sophoclean tragedy.”[9]  In Antigone, she alone sticks up for her brother, whom Oedipus cursed and King Creon’s troops killed.  Not that her goodness earns any mercy from the gods: shut up in a cave by her uncle, she commits suicide (which Pomeroy points out was seen as a rather cowardly, therefore womanly, way out.[10])

Meanwhile, the upstart Creon takes pot-shots at women: “Let them know that they are women, not free to roam abroad.”[11]  “We must not let a woman defy us.”  “This is depravity, putting a woman foremost!”  By contrast, Oedipus curses his sons and blesses his daughters: “They’re men, not women, when it comes to shouldering my burdens.”[12]

Aeschylus related the fate of the equally doomed family of King Agamemnon, before and after the Trojan War.  This family split when the goddess Artimis demanded that the oldest daughter, Iphigenia, be sacrificed to allow the Greek navy sail to Troy. 

“It is right that they should passionately cry for the winds to be lulled by the blood of a girl.”[13]

After Troy lost the fight King Priam’s daughter Cassandra, now unwilling concubine to Agamemnon, also spoke of the “death of a woman slave, an easy victim.”[14]  But the fullest surviving account of this family drama would be told by Athen’s third great tragedian. 

Euripides had a gift for setting plausible arguments in the mouths even of unsympathetic characters.  His plays were works of fiery street art not cool philosophy, and he took unusual interest in those on the margins.  Euripides has, thus, been accused both of feeling for women too much, and of heartless misogyny.

One translator of his plays concludes, “He was appalled by the low status of women even in hypercivilized Athens.”[15]  Misogyny is indeed often noted: “As a woman, I was the ready butt for hate by all.” (Hippolytus[16])  “How hard it is for women to deal with men!  They lump the good and bad together and find us all a pest.” (Ion[17])  “What man will it be who clenches his fist on my golden hair, and plucks me like a weeping flower out of my perishing country?” (Iphigenia at Aulis[18])

Almost half of Euripides’ extant plays feature female leads.  Whether depicting the plight of Helen of Troy, Trojan captives, royal concubines, female suppliants who lost loved ones in battle, or even the witch-queen Medea, who killed her own children to avenge her man’s new love, Euripides’ women argue their cases with force and passion, and often sound reason.  “Of all things that have life and sense we women are the most hapless creatures,” Medea complains.  One buys a husband and “tyrant over ourselves.”  Then one has to adjust to the husband’s home culture (Medea was born a princess in Central Asia, before being swept off her feet by Jason seeking the Golden Fleece).  If she fails at that, “It were best to die.”  Euripides sent Athenian males home from plays with cries like the following ringing in their ears:  

“I would rather stand in battle armor three times, than once give birth.”[19]

Two of his plays (Andromache and Medea) focus on the evil of polygamy:

“Never shall I praise the double marriage of mortals, nor children born of different mothers:  makers of quarrels at home and hateful sorrow.  Let husbands be contented with one marriage couch, unshared.”[20]

However, classicist Sarah Ruden warns:

“I have read of considerate men staying faithful to their wives within the walls of home, keeping their hands off the slaves (male and female) and not bringing women (or little boys) home . . . But I have never seen any hint that a wife was entitled to challenge what her husband did outside: any speculating or accusing was nagging.”[21]

Pomeroy finds Euripides, while no propagandist for any cause, unique among the playwrights in insight and sympathy: in his work, “the horrors of patriarchy compose a background of unremitting female misery.”[22]  But Aristophanes knew more of his plays than we do.  His comedy Thesmophoriazusae recounts a plot by the women of Athens to assassinate Euripides for disclosing their wiles on stage: “calling us intriguers, strumpets, tipplers, deceivers, rotten to the core and a curse to mankind.[23]  (An echo of Hesiod’s views!)  In that play, Euripides talks a homely male relative into cross-dressing to infiltrate a female-only festival and trying to win the women over.  The playwright then follows in various ridiculous disguises to rescue his flailing ambassador.  And in Aristophanes’ war-of-the-sexes comedy Lysistrata, a male leader describes women as “Euripides and God-detested.”[24] 

In Euripides’ own extant plays, women themselves often disrespect females.  Menelaus’ daughter Hermione accuses Andromache, formerly a Trojan princess but now slave and concubine, of poisoning her to keep her infertile.  Hermione’s female friends talk her into trying to murder Andromache and her little boy.  Andromache laments:

“It’s strange one of the gods above has given mortals medicine for serpent bites, but never found a cure for savage women who are worse than any snakes, are worse than fire itself.  So great an evil are we women to mankind.”[25] 

Hermione later blames her attempted hit on “evil women” who came calling and asked: “Will you endure to have that rotten slave girl here to share your husband’s bed, with you right in the house?”[26]  So she advises married men not to let their wives’ friends visit often: “they only teach (your wife) wickedness.”  In Electra, Agamemnon’s equally murderous wife Clytemnestra speaks of “that harlot Helen” and “that crazy Cassandra,” admitting that “women are silly creatures,” then blaming her husband for committing adultery first.[27]  Her daughter replies by saying a “sensible woman” should “yield to her husband in everything.”

More troubling than insults or even this “shut up and take it” philosophy is Euripides’ suggestion that virtuous women should die with their husbands, offered by Menelaus in Andromache.  After Evadne regains her husband’s remains in The Suppliants, she climbs a rock and announces:

“For the sake of honor, I’ll rush off this rock and leap into the fire, mingling my body in bright flame with my darling, my dear, joining my flesh to his flesh.”[28]

Which she does, claiming by suicide to “conquer all women whom the sun looks upon.”  (Though the husband she dies for is in fact a useless slob.)  Agamemnon’s daughter Iphigenia likewise rationalizes her death by saying better she die than Generalissimo Dad: “A single man is worthier to look upon the light than ten thousand women.  If Artemis is determined to have my carcass, shall I a mortal female cheat the goddess?” (Iphigenia at Aulis[29])  Even after Artemis rescues her, she repeats this sentiment to her brother:

“A man’s death is a family’s loss, a woman’s is no matter.” (Iphigenia Among the Taurians[30])

Hecuba, widow of Priam, King of Troy, expresses the same sentiment while giving Helen a tongue-lashing (as she receives even more often than Paris in these plays):

“Did anyone ever find you putting a noose around your neck or sharpening a dagger, as any decent woman would have done, pining for her husband?” (The Trojan Women[31])

Such lines make good drama, and need not negate the sympathy Euripides often expressed.  Plutarch says Alexander brought Euripides and the other two great dramatists along on his conquests,[32] and that the king quoted Medea and Andromache,[33] while Arrian has him quoting a lost work by Euripides.[34] Did Alexander introduce this idea of a good woman dying with her husband to India?  Probably not.  As noted, a universal phenomenon does not require a local explanation.  Such passages in Greek and Indian literature look like survivals into “civilized times” of the common feeling that servants should die in sympathy with, and go on serving, masters.  Pomeroy argues, though, that classical Greek authors set strong, opinionated, high-born women in public, though they were often confined in fact, because Bronze Age sources like Homer reflected an earlier, militaristic and cruel, but freer society.   (And also these authors would have been raised by women.[35])   

Greek Sages

Attitudes expressed in Greek philosophy can often be found in poets and dramatists who preceded them.  If Homer and classical plays were the Old Testament of Greek culture, Socrates, Plato, the Stoic and Cynic schools might collectively serve as its New Testament. 

In Plato’s Republic, Socrates notes that “the gifts of nature are alike diffused” to both sexes.  Ladies may serve as musicians, gymnasts, or philosophers, may be listless or full of spirit, or even “have a turn” for military exercises.[36]

Plato’s sagely mouthpiece conceded that men were superior in most activities, aside from weaving, “watching pancakes,” and (no doubt) producing babies.  (And in his Symposium, a girl flutist was hired to entertain the men, then sent to the women’s quarters or to play alone when the men decide to talk about love – mostly between rich Epstein type men and needy teenage boys.)[37]  Yet women fit to act as consorts of ruling men and as mothers must also strip to fight in the games to prepare their bodies for battle.  (However men may laugh – he does not say ogle.)  Women should be given lighter tasks, but must help defend the nation, including as guardians of the state.   

Such was “the first wave” of Plato’s planned sexual revolution.  The second would wash higher:

“The wives of our guardians are to be common, and their children are to be common, and no parent is to know his own child, nor any child his parent.”

In Plato’s utopia, when a child was born, he would be left with nurses, and mothers would give milk to any children of that generation.  Men would act as fathers to all children of a certain age.  Since property and children would be held in common, rulers need not squabble over such traditional bones of contention, and harmony would reign. 

No doubt this is one scheme that led G. K. Chesterton to call Plato the “father of faddists.”  

Agonito thinks Plato represented progress, and Pomeroy seems more dispassionately to agree.  But in his commune, people would be bred for the public interest not the benefit of families, which would be abolished.[38]  Like the revenge Medea sought, the equality Plato offered was rather inhuman: the former inhumanly fiery, the latter inhumanly cold.  Both led to the same result: mothers without children.   

Aristotle responded by echoing the chauvinism of the poets and dramatists:  "The male is by nature fitter for command than females."[39]  In a scientific work, he described women as "mutilated males.”[40]  Aristotle did admit that a man’s lordship over his woman was less absolute than that over his slave. 

Would most women prefer to live in Plato's commune, or the more sexist but family-friendly societies Aristotle seemed to prefer, in which they could hold their own children, rather than giving suck to any kid that comes along?  As we will see, later “progressive” thinkers followed Plato in seeking to unload the fruits of "free love" on the State or other third parties.  Other modern philosophers to take an even dimmer view of women than Aristotle, including one revered founder of modern feminism.   

Perhaps Aristotle got his idea that females are defective males from his teacher.  In Timaeus, after a long explanation of the creation of the first man, with much pseudo-scientific talk of elements and proportions, Plato’s speaker mentions the origin of women in terms even less flattering than those his student would later employ:

“Thus we have finished the discussion of the universe, which, according to our original intention, has now been brought down to the creation of man.  Completeness seems to require that something should be briefly said about other animals: first of women, who are probably degenerate and cowardly men.” [41]

A more credibly sympathetic male, the Stoic Musonius Rufus, wrote in the First Century AD.  He did not, like Plato, think women should wrestle naked in the ring.  But he agreed that women shared the gift of reason.  Musonius cited Amazons as proof that women could fight: what they lacked was not courage, but practice.  Virtues like chastity, bravery, and self-control were necessary for both sexes, so both would benefit from Stoic philosophy.  If animals were trained irrespective of sex, why shouldn’t women study, too?  

“It is necessary for women to be able to repel attack, unless indeed they are willing to appear more cowardly than hens and other female birds which fight with creatures much larger than themselves to defend their young.”[42]

In short, Musonius was as enlightened as the timber wolf who watches pups while his mate hits the trail.  Both recognized gender roles, but allowed some fluidity.  Unlike Plato, he recognized that a hen does not indifferently watch all the chicks in its barnyard. 

Women in Classical History, Law, and Anthropology

Herodotus’ sweeping account of war with Persia described gender relations not only between remote tribes, but also among advanced nations that Greeks faced in battle.  Cambyses II of Persia (reigned 529-522 BC) fell in love with his sister and determined to marry her (3.31), a custom Herodotus said was new among Persians (if not Egyptians; and the Ptolemies would copy this custom to rule Egypt).  Counselors adept at kissing up said that they found no law allowing the measure, but found another "which said that he who was king of Persia could do anything he wanted."  

The Babylonians revolted from Persia, sending mothers away.  Each chose one woman from his household to cook meals, then, facing a siege, "the others were strangled that they might not use up the supply of bread" (3.150).

“Cherchez la femme!”  Like Hesiod’s Trojan War, Herodotus traced troubles between Persians and Greeks to sexual conflict.  Darius of Persia sent ambassadors to Macedonia, who entertained them "lavishly."  The Persians then demanded, "When we put on a great feast like this one, we bring in our wives and our mistresses to sit with us . . .  Now comply with this custom" (5.18).  Amyntas the king replied, "With us the men and women are separated.  But since you are our masters and request this of us, this privilege too shall be yours."  

Durant claims that “legal wives” in Persia were in fact kept under wraps, a custom he thought was passed on to Islam, while concubines were free to move around and banquet with men.  He suggested this was because Persian women were so comely that “men had to be guarded from them.”[43]  But according to Herodotus, the envoys found Macedonian women attractive enough, and began making moves.  Alexander, the king's son, smiled and asked his father to knock off for the day while "I remain here and give the guests everything they have coming.”  As the enjoys awaited consorts in their rooms, dagger-wielding assassins entered in female garb and planted the kiss of death on each cheek.  Thus, the Persian invasion. 

In Carthage, a rich, populous Phoenician metropolis on the north coast of Africa, Durant says women led “for the most part a veiled and secluded life.”  Phoenicians were famed among Jews, Greeks and Romans for child sacrifice, often to the god Baal-Haman, identified by Latins with Kronos or Saturn.  Durant claims that in times of crisis, up to three hundred were placed in the arms of the god and burnt in one day: 

“Their cries were drowned in the noise of trumpets and cymbals; their mothers were required to look upon the scene without moan or tear, lest they be accused of impiety and lose the credit due to them from the god.”[44]

One of Durant’s sources, Diodorus Siculus, like Herodotus enjoyed wild stories, and some have disputed such accounts as Roman war propaganda.  But archeologists have found suspicious cremated remains.[45]  Diodorus says the rich bought poor children for this purpose, or substituted an animal, until an invasion forced rulers to get serious with the gods by throwing aristocratic children into “a gaping pit filled with fire.”[46] 

Perhaps the scale has been exaggerated.  Almost all Carthaginian writings have been lost.  But at least we can say, liberation for women was unlikely to come from Persia or Phoenicia. 

The Greek statesman Callias, from a wealthy family known to supply slaves for the state silver mine, committed an eccentric and generous act: he allowed his three daughters to marry any man they liked (6.122).

One of Xerxes' minor allies was a Greek woman named Artemisia, who brought a ship to war on the Athenians.  When the Battle of Salamis turned against the Persian navy, she rammed a member of her own coalition to escape Athenian pursuit, causing the king to wince: "My men have become women, and my women men" (8.88).  The Athenians set a prize for capturing her, "for they regarded it as a scandal that a woman should make war upon Athens" (8.93). 

Not all Greek historians shared an interest in such drama.  Narrating the subsequent war between Athenian and Spartan federations, Thucydides simply noted several times that Athens, or less often Sparta, conquered a city, killed its fighting-age men, and enslaved women and children.  In revolutionary Corcyra, the exception that proved the rule, women “joined in the fighting with great daring, hurling down tiles from the rooftops and standing up to the din of battle with a courage beyond their sex.”[47]  Polybius was even muter on females in his account of how Rome subjugated Greece.   

Like Herodotus, serial biographer Plutarch found it hard to pass up a sexy story.  “I hope the reader will bear with digressions of this kind (in this case, on the ‘fiery’ soil of Persia, introduced by a tale about the witch-queen Medea) so long as they are kept within reasonable limits.”[48] 

Wicked women who make history feature prominently in Plutarch’s account of Alexander the Great’s life.  Olympias was married to Philip of Macedonia, but reportedly conceived when her womb was struck by a thunderbolt.  Philip also heard that a snake had been seen lying beside his bride, which “weakened Philip’s passion and cooled his affection” for her.  Reportedly she was a follower of Dionysius and dallied with a god.  As a fan of Euripides, Alexander would have read his prize-winning play Bacchantes, which describes what happens when even a king pries too much into divinely-sponsored female orgies.  Ruden noted that the “folk wisdom that helped shape all those sociopathic female characters in literature” was that women were “wild, lustful, and depraved” by nature.[49] 

Plutarch claims that Olympias’ depraved character poisoned the Macedonian state.  Philip’s many affairs created “quarrels” in the women’s quarters (endemic, Pomeroy claims, among elite Macedonian women, who liked to massacre rivals for their lord’s affections after ascension[50]).  This led to “bitter clashes” with his son, egged on by the jealous and “vindictive” Olympias.  Once, Philip married a young woman named Cleopatra, and her uncle insulted the queen by drunkenly but pointedly toasting the prospect of, finally, a legitimate heir.  Alexander threw a cup at the man.  His father came at his son armed and drunk, but fell down.  The son taunted:

“Here is the man who was making ready to cross from Europe to Asia, and who cannot even cross from one table to another without losing his balance.”[51]

Alexander was careful, Plutarch insisted, to leave the beautiful wife and daughters of the Persian king unmolested, supported the death penalty for Macedonians who seduced the wives of Greek mercenaries, and chastised a naval commander who offered him handsome boy slaves.  The party girl Thais suggested burning down Xerxes’ palace: Alexander thought better, and had the flames quelled.   

Plutarch ended his account as he began it, by describing the cruelty of Olympias, who suspected that her son had been poisoned (emphasizing however that rumors of Aristotle’s involvement were false):

“Olympias put many men to death and had the ashes of Iolas, Antipater’s son, scattered to the winds on the supposition that he had administered the poison.”[52]

What to expect while you’re expecting?  The final paragraph of Plutarch’s account tells how Alexander’s beloved Roxane forged a letter when she was pregnant to get hubby’s second wife, Stateira, into her hands.  She had the woman and her sister murdered and their bodies thrown into a well.  The story also involves the ever-jealous Olympias addling the brain of a man named Perdiccas with drugs, with Roxane then seizing power in his name.

Not all women in Plutarch are so nasty.  But Greek historians do give the impression that confining upper-class women barely kept them out of trouble, and that sexual jealousies kept society at a constant low broil, until it bubbled over and scalded everyone within range. 

Gender in Law

Many ancient writers remarked with surprise on the status of women in Sparta.  Peleus, who saves Andromache and her son in Euripides’ play, sees Helen as typical among senseless Spartan women, who go naked of thigh and loose of dress, to race, wrestle and flirt with men.[53]  Xenophon noted that “throughout the rest of the world” well-brought up girls were given “the plainest food attainable” with little meat, few condiments, and only watered-down wine.  The “rest of the Hellenes” asked girls to “sit quietly and work wools.”  Xenophon ascribed greater foresight to Lycurgus, the perhaps legendary law-maker of Sparta, who anticipated some of Plato’s ideas:

 

“Lycurgus . . . insisted on the training of the body as incumbent no less on the female than the male; and in pursuit of the same idea instituted rival contests in running and feats of strength for women as for men.  His belief was that where both parents were strong their progeny would be found to be more vigorous.”[54]

Spartan women owned some 40% of the land.  Xenophon insisted that Sparta was a stark exception among the Greeks in this and other ways.[55]  Pomeroy points out that Spartan women married at 18 or later, ate better than other Greek females, enjoyed more economic freedom, shared patriotic pride with husbands, and long enjoyed the benefits their martial society secured.[56]

Spartans worried when King Anaxandrides failed to produce an heir, says Herodotus, and ephors (religious elders) asked him to divorce his wife and marry another.  He refused, but finally took a second wife.  Both women conceived, one of the sons of the original being none other than Leonidas,[57] the warrior who would buy Greece time by fighting off a vast Persian Army at Thermopylae, memorably played by Jerard Butler in the movie 300.

Exercise of body and mind lent Spartan women swagger.  When someone told Leonidas’s wife that only Spartan women control their men, she famously sniffed:

 

“That’s because we’re the only ones who give birth to men.”[58] 

This was doubtless a swipe at Greek states where women were kept weak.  Aristotle thought rich women caused the ruin of Sparta.[59]  Steven Hodkinson argues that class, not sex, led to the nation’s fall: the rich of both sexes came to dominate, to the fury of the poor.[60] 

Pomeroy emphasized the complexity of female roles in ancient Greece: the status of women varied by era, subculture and state, class and role, as well as individual attitude and fate.  But she cited one set of data (defending it in a footnote) that causes one to shudder: “J. Lawrence Angel’s studies of skeletal remains indicates that the average adult longevity in Classical Greece was 45 years for males and 36.2 for females.”[61]  And that doesn’t include selective infanticide, which Pomeroy agrees was habitual.  (True, some young males may have died young in battle and not been counted.)  Later, she ascribes this disparity largely to subpar rations for females and to death in childhood.[62]



[1] For an overview, see Sarah Pomeroy, Spartan Women (Oxford University Press, 2002).

[2] Barber, 180

[3] Loren Cunningham and David Hamilton, Why Not Women?  A Fresh Look at Scripture on Women in Missions, Ministry, and Leadership (YWAM Publishing, 2000).  Hamilton’s first two chapters, 5 and 6, offer a picture of the status of women in Greece that may be too unremittingly dark. 

[4] Hesiod, Theogomy, 590, from Hesiod, The Homeric Hymns and Homerica with an English Translation by Hugh G. Evelyn-White. Theogony. (Harvard University Press; William Heinemann Ltd. 1914)

[5] One of C. S. Lewis’ more obscure short stories, After Ten Years, imagines the meeting between a now middle-aged Helen and her husband Menelaus in Egypt.  

[6] In Xenophon’s An Ephesian Tale, for instance, the golden-haired beauty Anthia is kidnapped by pirates, one of whom falls in love with her.  She is poisoned, lives with a goatherd, sent to be sacrificed, and appointed for sale to a brothel – yet somehow maintains chaste fidelity to her lover throughout. 

[7] Homer, Odysseus, translated by Samuel Butler (1900), Book 11, Page 7 The Odyssey, by Homer, Butler Tr.; Book XXI Page 7 (pagebypagebooks.com)

[8] L. R. Lind, 398

[9] Sophocles: The Three Theban Plays (Penguin Classics, 1982), 277

[10] Sarah Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity (Schoken Books, 1975), 101

[11] L. R. Lind, 94

[12] Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, in The Three Theban Plays, 364

[13] Aeschylus, Agamemnon, in Lind, 42

[14] Ibid, 68

[15] Ibid, Introduction

[16] Ibid, 62

[17] Ibid, 118

[18] Ibid, 245

[19] Euripides, Medea, 251

[20] Euripides, Andromache, in Lind, 304

[21] Sarah Ruden, Paul Among the People: The Apostle Reinterpreted and Reimagined in His Own Time (Image Books, 2010), 105

[22] Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves, 101

[23] Aristophanes,  (Penguin Classics), 434

[24] Aristophanes, Lysistrata, translated by Charles Murphy, in L. R. Lind, Ten Greek Plays in Contemporary Translations (Houghton Mifflin Co, 1957), 378

[25] Euripides, Andromache, translated by L. R. Lind, Ten Greek Plays in Contemporary Translations, 299-300

[26] Ibid, 315

[27] Euripides: Ten Plays, translated by Paul Roche (Signet Classics, 1998), 202

[28] Euripides, The Suppliants, translated by L. R. Lind, in Lind, 282

[29] Euripides, Ten Plays, translated by Paul Roche, 267

[30] Ibid, 315

[31] Ibid, 488-9

[32] Plutarch, Life of Alexander, 8, in Age of Alexander (Penguin Classics), 260

[33] Ibid, 265, 309, see also 293

[34] Arrian, The Campaigns of Alexander (Penguin Classics), 376

[35] Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves, 94-97

[36] Plato, The Republic, V.

[37] Plato, The Symposium, especially the speech of Pausanias, but seemingly assumed by other speakers as well.  Being men of class, the accepted view is that homosexual love affairs should be intellectual, not just physical. 

[38] Ibid.  

[39] Aristotle, in Agonito, 52

[40] Aristotle, On the Generation of Animals, II.3 ESP Digital Books: On the Generation of Animals

[41] Plato, Timeus, translated by Benjamin Jowett (The Project Gutenberg eBook of Timaeus, by Plato), Section 1

[43] Will Durant, The Age of Faith, 137

[44] Ibid, 41-42

[47] Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, translated by Rex Warner (Penguin Classics, 1954), III, 74

[48] Plutarch, Life of Alexander, 35, in The Age of Alexander, translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert (Penguin Classics, 1973), 292

[49] Sarah Ruden, Paul Among the People: The Apostle Reinterpreted and Reimagined in His Own Time (Image Books, 2010), 98

[50] Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves, 121

[51] Plutarch, Life of Alexander, 9 (261)

[52] Ibid, 77 (333)

[53] Andromache, in Lind, 307

[54] Xenophon, Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, 1.4

[55] Xenophon, Constitution of the Lacedaimonians

[56] Sarah Pomeroy, Spartan Women (Oxford University Press, 2002)

[57] Herodotus, Histories, 5,39

[58] Ibid,                                       

[59] Aristotle, Politics, 2.9

[60] Steven Hodkinson, “Female Property Ownership and Status in Classical and Hellenistic Sparta,” Center for Hellenic Studies, 2020, conference on Women and Property, organized and edited by Deborah Lyons and Raymond Westbrook

[61] Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives and Slaves, 68. 

[62] Ibid, 228