A Roman Seeks the Aid of an Egyptian Goddess

APULEIUS, The Golden Ass: The Veneration of Isis (ca. 170 C.E.)

Cultural exchange between the Romans and their subject peoples was not a one-way street. Just as subject peoples adopted the imperial cult and other aspects of Roman religion and culture, the Romans were influenced by the traditions and beliefs of the peoples they conquered. The mystery religions that emerged during the Hellenistic Period, such as the cult of the Egyptian goddess Isis, gained enormous popularity among the Romans. Participants believed that the god or goddess of the cult took a direct interest in their lives, and many such religions centered on the idea that devotees would be rewarded with some form of eternal life. In this excerpt from The Golden Ass by Apuleius (ah-puh-LAY-us), a young man, Lucius, has been turned into a donkey and calls on Isis for assistance. As you read it, think about what light this sheds on cultural fusion and exchange under the Roman Empire.

About the first watch of the night I awoke in sudden terror and saw the full orb of the moon just rising from the waves; exceeding bright it was and of unwonted splendor. All about me was the silent mystery of the dark night. I knew that the supreme goddess was now in the [fullness] of her power and that the lives of men were governed by her providence; I knew that not only all cattle and creatures of the wild, but even things inanimate were given new life by her divine splendor and the power of her godhead. . . . I resolved to address my prayers to the august vision of the goddess now present in power, and straightway shaking off sluggish slumber nimbly arose . . . and thus made I my supplication to the all-powerful goddess, my face bathed in tears:

Queen of heaven, whether you be Ceres,1 the kindly mother from whom in the beginning spring the fruits of earth, . . . or be you Venus the heavenly one, who at the first beginning of things did unite the diversity of the sexes in the power of Love that is born of you, . . . or be you Phoebus’s sister,2 who with gentle healing brings relief to women in travail and has reared such multitudes, . . . or be you Proserpine,3 to whom men render shuddering reverence with howls by night, . . . by whatever name, by whatever rite, in whatever semblance man may invoke you, do you now aid me in my utter woe. . . . Take from me the foul semblance of a four-footed beast, restore me to the sight of those I love, restore to me the Lucius that I knew. . . .

Thus had I outpoured my supplication and added thereto much woeful wailing, when once more slumber was shed about me on that same couch of sand and overcame my fainting soul. Yet scarce had I closed my eyes in sleep, [when the goddess appeared and spoke to me]. . . .

“Lo, Lucius, I am come, moved by your supplication, I, nature’s mother, mistress of all the elements, the first-begotten offspring of the ages, of deities mightiest, queen of the dead, first of heaven’s denizens, in whose aspect are blended the aspects of all gods and goddesses. With my rod I rule the shining heights of heaven, the health-giving breezes of the sea, the mournful silence of the underworld. The whole earth worships my godhead, one and individual, under many a changing shape, with varied rites and by many diverse names. There the Phrygians,4 first-born of men, call me the mother of the gods; . . . there the Athenians, sprung from the soil they till, know me as Cecropian Minerva;5 . . . Cretans, Diana of the hunter’s net;6 . . . Others call me Juno,7 others Bellona,8 others Hecate,9 . . . and the Egyptians mighty in ancient lore, honor me with my peculiar rites and call me by my true name, Isis the Queen. I am come in pity for your woes. I am come propitious and strong to aid. . . . You must await [my] festival with heart untroubled and profane thoughts banished far from you. For the priest who shall assist in the celebration of the procession, forewarned by me, will bear . . . in his right hand a wreath of roses. Then delay not, but brush aside the crowds and lightly join my procession, relying on my goodwill. Draw nigh and gently, as though you wouldst kiss the priest’s hand, pluck the roses and put off from you straightway the hide of that vile beast, that hath ever been hateful to me. And shrink not from any of these things as too hard for you. . . . At my bidding the people that throng you about will part and leave clear a path for you. Nor amid those merry sights and those gay ceremonies will any one shudder at that foul aspect you wear, nor will any interpret to your shame your sudden change of shape nor make malign accusation against you. But you must remember surely and keep hidden in your inmost soul this — that the rest of your life’s course, to the term of your last breath, is dedicated to me. Nor is it unjust that you should, so long as you shalt live, owe all your life to her who brought you back to mankind. But you shalt live blessed, you shalt live crowned with glory beneath my protection, and when your life is run and you go down to the nether world, there also in that nether hemisphere you shall see me shining through the darkness of Acheron10 and reigning in the inmost halls of Styx;11 and you shall dwell in the Elysian fields,12 and continually make offering of worship to me, and I will smile on you.”

From Apuleius, The Metamorphoses: or Golden Ass of Apuleius of Madaura, vol. 2, trans. Harold Edgeworth Butler (Oxford, U.K.: Clarendon Press, 1910), pp. 126–132. Text modernized by Amy R. Caldwell.