Ovid and the end of an Era

I’m reading Ovid’s Metamorphoses in preparation for comprehensive exams in the fall. And for the first time (I’m sorry to say), I’m paying careful attention to the structure of each book. It’s a bit of a revelation, I admit. What otherwise reads like a loosely connected patchwork of Greek and Roman myths is, in fact, a tightly constructed narrative. If “text” is a metaphor drawn from the art of weaving and the creation of a textile, then the Metamorphoses approaches the literalization of the metaphor more closely than any other narrative I’ve experienced.

Just to take one example: consider the narrative of Cadmus and the history of Thebes.

Book III begins with the story of Cadmus, the founder of Thebes. His story begins in the aftermath of Europa’s, his sister’s, disappearance. At the end of Book II, Jove transformed himself into an irresistibly beautiful white bull, and he whisked Europa away into the ocean. Europa’s father commands Cadmus, on pain of exile, to find his sister. A series of miscellaneous events occur, and Cadmus finds himself establishing a new city in a foreign land. But, in order to do so, he must fight a serpent and then plant its teeth in the ground to populate the land.

From there, we get the story of Actaeon, the grandson of Cadmus, who unwittingly wanders across Diana bathing in a spring. In her wrath, Diana transforms him into a stag. Actaeon had been hunting prior to his encounter with Diana, and the story ends with the hunter having become the hunted. His own hunting dogs track him down and kill him.

From here, the story turns to Semele–the mistress of Jove and the mother of Bacchus. Her story also takes an ironic turn. Juno deceives Semele into asking Jove to reveal himself in his true power the next time he comes to sleep with her, knowing full well that such a revelation will kill her. Semele is pregnant at the time that the event occurs, and before it’s too late, Jove saves the child, sowing the fetus into his own thigh until it is time for him to be born.

Semele’s death prompts a debate in the following story about the origins and life of Tiresias. Jove and Juno argue over who enjoys the most sexual pleasure–Juno argues that men have the most pleasure, and Jove argues that women have the most pleasure. They cannot settle the debate, so they ask Tiresias–a man who had the (mis)fortune of being born a man who was accidentally transformed into woman, and then transformed back into a man. Tiresias sides with Jove, which angers Juno who strikes Tiresias blind. Out of pity, Jove (in another narrative moment of irony) gives Tiresias foresight.

Tiresias’ first prophecy results in the story of Narcissus and Echo. This event does not necessarily further the Theban narrative, but it telegraphs the general pattern of tragic prophecies Tiresias will continue to make.

Speaking of prophetic utterances of ensuing tragedy, the next story is Pentheus. Pentheus refuses to participate in the worship of the new god, Bacchus. For this, he is not only killed by his aunt and his mother in a Bacchic frenzy, he is made the ritual sacrifice to the god he denies. (More irony)

Then the narrative gets interesting (ha!). Book IV starts with a frame narrative: Mynas’ daughters. These three sisters also refuse to worship Bacchus. They claim to be more devoted to Minerva, and so they are not interested in the rites of a “new” god. They stay home during the Bacchic rites and tell each other stories while weaving. They tell three stories of frustrated desire: Pyramus and Thisbe, Mars-Venus-Vulcan-The Sun, Leucothoe and Clytie, Salmacis and Hermaphroditus. At the end of their stories, Ovid returns to the frame narrative and tells how the three sisters are visited by Bacchus and transformed into bats.

Although the interlude of the story of the Mynas daughters seems to bracket the Theban history of Book III, it nevertheless furthers the theme that begins with the story of Semele: what is to be done with the emergence of new gods?

Ovid has waded into deep waters at this point in the narrative. The answer isn’t as simple as, “Don’t ask questions, just worship the new deity.” It’s particularly complicated by the fact that the daughters of Mynas rely on their devotion to Minerva as an excuse not to participate in the worship of Bacchus. Pentheus, as well, is not simply rejecting Bacchic worship outright: he’s seen what the Bacchants are capable of. Juno and Jove have also shown throughout the Metamorphoses at this point that divine wrath will seek full restitution and vengeance. What exactly does “piety” mean in this context? It’s a question raised implicitly by the narrative(s) and one which directly engages Virgil’s depiction of “Pious Aeneas.” Aeneas suffers similar wrath from Juno throughout his journey to Latium, and for some reason, he pulls through. Why? Does Ovid think that Virgil provides an insufficient answer to the question of piety, fate, and the possibility for heroism in a world hampered by divine intervention?

Book IV concludes the Theban narrative and introduces a new era of heroes in the person of Perseus. Cadmus and his wife Harmonia are transformed into serpents, indicating that the Theban narrative has come full circle–Cadmus has become the thing he destroyed at to found the city of Thebes. Their transformation signals the end of an epoch, and specifically the end of one kind of relationship mortals have with the gods. Instead of being a helpless victim to the wrath of the gods, Perseus represents a new relationship, one that seems susceptible to modes of negotiation and (maybe) trickery. The gods are not to be trifled with, but maybe there’s another way to exercise mortal agency in the face of all powerful deities.

We’ll see.