The city of Carthage, in modern-day Tunisia, has a bit of an image problem that some historians would like to attribute to ancient Roman propaganda: The ancient city of Carthage was accused of infanticide and at least one archaeologist is trying to prove the tradition to be bunk:
"An expert on ancient Carthage — a city obliterated by the Romans more than 2,000 years ago — Mr. [Mhamed Hassine] Fantar is campaigning to clear his forefathers of a nasty stigma: a reputation for infanticide.
"’We didn’t do it,’ says the 69-year-old archaeologist, rejecting accusations that the ancient citizens of this North African land sacrificed babies to appease their gods."
On the other side of the academic divide over the issue, another archaeologist says the revisionist version of Carthage’s history is a "whitewash":
"Lawrence Stager, a Harvard University archaeology professor and expert on the subject, calls the revisionism a whitewash. He’s now editing a book that will include the results of long forensic analysis of charred bones he helped dig up in Carthage in the 1970s. This, says Mr. Stager, will prove beyond reasonable doubt that Mr. Fantar and his followers are wrong. Still, he isn’t expecting to win them over. ‘No one really relishes having ancestors who committed such heinous acts,’ he says."
Note to archaeologists two thousand years from now who may be arguing over whether Western societies of the twenty-first century committed infanticide to appease their "gods":
It’s true. We really did do it.
JIMMY ADDS: Carthago delenda est!
‘No one really relishes having ancestors who committed such heinous acts,’ he says.”
I always wonder what sort of person *cares*. I mean, the average European has bog-murder-sacrificers for ancestors. Does this bother us? No, not really. On the other hand, I read all these archaeology books that seem to think suggesting cannibalism, human sacrifice, or even – horror of horrors – violence in non-Western societies is an Imperialist plot. I think archaeology as an overall field rejects this line of “thinking” but it’s certainly attractive to some people.
Not to mention the fact that it is somewhat dubious to consider the Phoenecian Carthaginians the biological “ancestors” of modern Tunisians anyway.
I have read Dr. Fantar’s arguments before, and there are some serious problems with them. Most notably, that he has no credible explanation for the corpses of burned infants found in the Tophet with dedicatory inscriptions above them (he tries to say that it was a special cemetary reserved for infants, but even if we don’t accept the dedicatory inscriptions as sufficient proof to the contrary, this is still belied by the fact that there are similar offerings of burnt animal remains in the same Tophet). Frankly, if it weren’t for the strange fact that Polybius does not mention this practice, Dr. Fantar wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. It seems that he is motivated more by concerns of politics and national pride than by sound evidence (I might draw the analogy to small but loud contingent of fiercely nationalistic Greek historians & archaeologists who deny that the ancient Greeks ever practiced sodomy).
For a short but useful summary of the arguments of Dr. Fantar and Prof. Stager, see:
http://phoenicia.org/childsacrifice.html
One should be more concerned about one’s spiritual ancestors than one’s biological ancestors, methinks. We don’t take moral direction from pagan Rome, after all.
Lauda, Not sure that’s true. Rome had its share of brutality, to be sure (as do we), but it had things worth celebrating. Roman notions of virtue, duty, love and so on are still worth emulating.
Further, and more importantly, there’s the idea (which had disappeared recently) that the glory of ancient Rome was somehow in preparation for the Seat of Peter. Dante articulates this rather strongly. So does G.K. Chesterton.
Read the Everlasting Man, especially that part called something like “Gods and Demons.” The premise was that in the Punic wars there was something bigger than a power-struggle between ancient Mediterranean superpowers. The Punic Wars, Chesterton argues, were about a civilization based on morals (no matter how they later fell from them) combatting a civilization whose basis was corruption. The Baals of Carthage were demons, without personal or human virtue. The Roman gods on the other hand (while pagan and idolatrous, not to mention petty) represented something more human, with a capacity for virtue. Still paganism, but the Romans I think were worshipiing stone blocks, projecting ideals into them (eventually they saw the stone was empty and followed the ideals to Christ); the Carthaginians may have fallen under the sway of actual demons. It’s a good read.
That said, I suppose I look up to the ancient Romans as spititual rather than biological ancestors (though I suppose I might have a drop of Roman blood in these veins, Germano-Celtic mongrel that I am.) The good folks in Tunis who espouse the “happy-love Carthage” may not be biologically NOR spiritually descended from the old Carthaginians. From what I know it seems to be more a matter of geography, nationalism, and backpatting revisionism.
Interesting story. I was just talking to my high school students about Carthage yesterday (we’re reading the Inferno and Virgil leads to Aeneas leads to Dido leads to the Punic wars leads to Tophet leads to abortion clinics… they were properly horrified… and in a Publoc Catholic School!)
God Bless,
Stefan of the North
Lauda, Not sure that’s true. Rome had its share of brutality, to be sure (as do we), but it had things worth celebrating. Roman notions of virtue, duty, love and so on are still worth emulating.
Further, and more importantly, there’s the idea (which seems to have disappeared recently) that the glory of ancient Rome was somehow in preparation for the Seat of Peter. Dante articulates this rather strongly. So does G.K. Chesterton.
Read the Everlasting Man, especially that part called something like “Gods and Demons.” The premise was that in the Punic wars there was something bigger than a power-struggle between ancient Mediterranean superpowers. The Punic Wars, Chesterton argues, were about a civilization based on morals (no matter how they later fell from them) combatting a civilization whose basis was corruption. The Baals of Carthage were demons, without personal or human virtue. The Roman gods on the other hand (while pagan and idolatrous, not to mention petty) represented something more human, with a capacity for virtue. Still paganism, but the Romans I think were worshipiing stone blocks, projecting ideals into them (eventually they saw the stone was empty and followed the ideals to Christ); the Carthaginians may have fallen under the sway of actual demons. It’s a good read.
That said, I suppose I look up to the ancient Romans as spititual rather than biological ancestors (though I suppose I might have a drop of Roman blood in these veins, Germano-Celtic mongrel that I am.) The good folks in Tunis who espouse the “happy-love Carthage” may not be biologically NOR spiritually descended from the old Carthaginians. From what I know it seems to be more a matter of geography, nationalism, and backpatting revisionism.
Interesting story. I was just talking to my high school students about Carthage yesterday (we’re reading the Inferno and Virgil leads to Aeneas leads to Dido leads to the Punic wars leads to Tophet leads to abortion clinics… they were properly horrified… and in a Public Catholic School!)
God Bless,
Stefan of the North
Double-post! Arghhh! My apologies.
Rome had its share of brutality, to be sure (as do we), but it had things worth celebrating. Roman notions of virtue, duty, love and so on are still worth emulating.
I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. But there must have been a reason for St. Peter to refer to Rome as “Babylon,” also used in Scripture as code for apostate Jerusalem.
Not moral direction, but some other “directions” we do take from pagan Roman culture.
Romanesque architecture.
The basilica, with apse.
The imperial use of two candles and incense in the entrance procession.
The chasuble, stole, dalmatic. tunic (alb), cope.
The “watering” of wine at Mass.
The wedding veil (not optional in pagan Rome, and always ORANGE).
The title “pontifex,” the words “diocese” and “sacerdotal.”
“Cross, crucify, crucifixion, crucifix.”
Rome itself.
These things do have spiritual significance for us. There is value in knowing the culture some of whose elements we have purified or “transfigured.” It helps us understand ourselves.
“But there must have been a reason for St. Peter to refer to Rome as “Babylon,” also used in Scripture as code for apostate Jerusalem.”
Fair enough. And I’m certainly not trying to “clean up” the Roman Empire as these folks are trying to “clean up” Carthage. I also agree that Imperial Rome was Babylon, and such unpleasant characters as Commodus and Nero are nothing to brag about. But that was one aspect of Rome (a big one, I’ll admit) and there were more sides to Rome much as there is more than one America (one of which is decidedly nasty.) What was good in Rome survived the Fall of Rome because it cleaved to the Church; what was ill in large part fell (though men’s hearts don’t change.)
Fr. S, I agree in part with you, and our only moral compass is God (or the gifts He provides.) But I think there is more to it than these trappings, however important they may be. Ideas, for example, can be a conduit for understanding the deeper realities around us, much as metaphor can sometimes help us skitter around the surface of Mystery rather (slightly better than being entirely clueless.)
For example, the Roman idea of virtus has tremendous value, an idea that contains virtue, strength, health, integrity…. or caritas, which means both giving and love (that giving IS love.) These aren’t just words, they’re ideas, and I am at times stunned at how well Latin is suited to communicating Christian ideas. Without being too Rome-happy I guess I just feel that there’s some providence in the Church being seated in that great city.
By the way, my favorite arhictectural feature from above? The Apse… It drives my wife to distraction.
-Stefan
Stefan! Just how does the apse do that to your wife?
The apse originally (both imperially and ecclesiastically) was the place for the “cathedra.” The Christian altar was installed in front of it.
“Virtus,” a great Latin word … from “vir”–man (male)!
Fr. S.
The apse drives my wife to distraction only insomuch as I drive her to distraction. I’m always pointing them out, and so on, and every time we talk about building a house I try to figure out how to work one in. Heh.
Actually, the watering of wine is Hebraic in origin: rather than the secular purpose of dilution, it was part of making the wine kosher for Passover.
The watering of wine was a near-universal cultural pracitice in the ancient Mediterranean. Because ancient vintage practices resulted in a significantly thicker, more potent version of the beverage than our modern varieties, it was almost always mixed with water before serving. Drinking umixed wine was often considered a decadent, ebrious practice. This is not to dispute that the practice as instituted at the Last Supper and inherited by the Mass was derived immediately from the Hebrew usage.
9And do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. Matthew 3:9
Even if originally a kosher usage, its preservation liturgically would have been aided by the Mediterranean universality of watering the wine. Other Passover foods (roast lamb, etc.) and kosher usages have not been preserved in Christian liturgy. Kosher bread for the Passover, for example, is not only unleavened, but must be prepared in a household made fit (“koshered”) by meticulously purging it of all leaven and leavened foods. We have never “koshered” the place where altar breads are made. It does not seem that koshering the wine is the reason the practice was retained in the liturgy. Indeed, kosher sensibilities are absolutely “trampled” by the Eucharist: eating human flesh and drinking any blood at all, as the first and foundational “abhorrent” instance.
The Jewish Seder rite as known today did not develop until after the A.D. 70 destruction of the Temple (and thus the end of Temple liturgy and the Passover slaughter of lambs). By that time nearly two generations had passed since the Ascension. One wonders how much influence nascent Christian liturgical practice (long divorced from the Temple) had on the creation of the Seder, rather than the other way round.
One Jewish friend of mine, recalling the “post-Jesus” genesis of the Seder, finds it laughable that Christians put on Seders AS IF this were what Jesus and the apostles celebrated. Not!
Fr. S
The current Haggadah and seder ritual is indeed post-Temple. That being said, we have a great deal of knowledge of the Pesach ritual of the Temple era in Jesus’ time, and it is incorrect to imply a vast difference in *essential* ritual.
Liam, yes, it is incorrect so to imply.
====
Another angle … close to my heart and mind, and much present in my Eucharistic preaching….
We always celebrate the Body and Blood of Christ–down to the words: as Covenant. Yet, I find we do not always have a “covenant-mentality” (two-way mutual) approach to “receiving” the Eucharist. Both parties in a covenant “give” it; if not, no covenant has taken place. God offers, but we do not think of it as inviting (demanding!) our reciprocation. What I emphasize is for us as Catholics to approach the Eucharist as a necessary agreement to offer ourselves (body and blood and all) back to God who gives himself to us.
We speak of receiving. We speak little of entering, obeying, agreeing to the Eucharistic Covenant.
Perhaps, however, our traditional discourse of right disposition hits the mark. Sadly, though, perhaps too little is made of REQUIRING the right disposition. “Everybody, just come, rainbow sash or whatever!”
So, St. Paul says, “This is why some of you are sick, and some have died.”
I thought, ritually at least, the mixing of water and wine at the Eucharist was to signify the water and blood gushing from Christ’s side.
While adding the water to the wine in the chalice, the priest is to speak inaudibly the following words:
“By the mystery of this water and wine
may we come to share in the divinity of Christ,
who humbled himself to share in our humanity.”