Introduction

From Nero to Caligula, the Roman Empire is credited with many colourful, eccentric and notorious emperors. Among these, Elagabalus (also known as Heliogabalus) occupies a prominent place. Infamous anecdotes about this remarkable ruler abound, from his devotion to an exotic god, his conduct of human sacrifices and his insatiable sexual appetite, to such noteworthy feats as the institution of a women’s senate and the building of a suicide tower. Even if only a fraction of these tales is true, Elagabalus must have been one of the most intriguing and unusual characters ever to sit on the Roman throne.

Officially called Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, the emperor got his name from Elagabal, the sun god of the Syrian town of Emesa, from where his family hailed.¹ Before his rise to power, Elagabalus acted as Elagabal’s high priest, performing ritual dances for the god. Because of his good looks and distinguished lineage, he attracted the attention of soldiers from a Roman legion stationed near Emesa. On 16 May 218CE, they proclaimed him emperor on the pretence that he was a bastard son of the deceased emperor Caracalla. Elagabalus, who was just 14 years old at the time, emerged victorious from the ensuing civil war and gained the recognition of the senate. He travelled to Rome and took Elagabal – represented by a conical black stone – with him.

Elagabalus’s reign was short, but certainly not short on interesting events. In a shocking and unprecedented move, the emperor put Elagabal at the head of the Roman pantheon, usurping Jupiter’s supreme position. He styled himself as Elagabal’s ‘most elevated priest’ and propagated this priesthood on coins, in inscriptions and papyri. In addition, he married a vestal virgin, one of Rome’s most august priestesses, while marrying Elagabal to Urania, a deity from the African city of Carthage. In March 222CE, less than four years after he had gained the throne, the emperor was killed by rebellious praetorians, soldiers of the imperial guard. His body was dragged through the streets and dumped in the Tiber, his memory cursed by the senate, the black stone sent back to its temple in Emesa. Thus the reign of the priest-emperor ended as suddenly and violently as it had begun.

Although Elagabalus is not as widely known as Caligula or Nero, his reputation for luxury, licentiousness and insanity is just as extreme, if not more so. The three main ancient authors who have described his reign – Cassius Dio, Herodian and the unknown author of the Vita Antonini Heliogabali – portray him as one of Rome’s notorious ‘bad emperors’. Their hostile accounts set the tone for later historians. The eighteenth-century scholar Edward Gibbon had nothing but disdain for the infamous ruler, remarking,

It may seem probable, the vices and follies of Elagabalus have been adorned by fancy, and blackened by prejudice. Yet confining ourselves to the public scenes displayed before the Roman people, and attested by grave and contemporary historians, their inexpressible infamy surpasses that of any other age or country.²

Despite these condemning words – or perhaps in part because of them – the legacy of Elagabalus has endured. Ever since the Renaissance, but especially during the last two hundred years, many novelists, poets, playwrights and painters have been inspired by the emperor. The list includes several famous names, such as Francesco Cavalli, Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Stefan George and Antonin Artaud, but also obscure authors like the eighteenth-century Dutch playwright Gysbert Tysens. From the novels, poems, plays, paintings and, more recently, movies, comic books and pop songs of these authors and artists, Elagabalus emerges in many different guises: from evil tyrant to devoted anarchist, from mystical androgyne to modern gay teenager, from Decadent sensualist to ancient pop star.

IN THE HANDS OF HISTORIANS

Historians, too, have been fascinated by Elagabalus. In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, several academic works have been devoted to the emperor and his sun god. The ball was set rolling by Georges Duviquet, who edited Héliogabale raconté par les historiens grecs et latins (1903), a collection of ancient texts (and some other sources, such as coins and inscriptions) on Elagabalus. These literary sources play a central role in subsequent studies on the person and reign of Elagabalus. Often, this occurs at the expense of taking into account coins, inscriptions, papyri, busts and archaeological remains. As a result, the portrayals of the emperor in modern academic literature are often one-sided and unbalanced.

John Stuart Hay, the author of The Amazing Emperor Heliogabalus (1911), attempted to delve into Elagabalus’s psyche. He criticises the literary accounts, stating that they have slandered the young ruler, but his own, remarkably positive take on Elagabalus is not founded on any evidence or plausible reasoning. Another attempt at psychoanalysis was made by Roland Villeneuve, whose Héliogabale, le César fou (1957) is less positive about the emperor than Hay’s study, but equally unconvincing.

Other scholars have not fared much better. G.R. Thompson’s unpublished PhD thesis ‘Elagabalus: Priest-Emperor of Rome’ (1972) has the merit that it makes extensive use of non-literary sources and references them meticulously, but its critical attitude still leaves much to be desired. The latter is also true for Robert Turcan’s Héliogabale et le sacre du soleil (1985), which mostly seems to take the ancient accounts at face value and does not trouble itself with references. A recent study by Saverio Gualerzi, Né uomo, né donna, né dio, né dea (2005), concentrates on Elagabalus’s sociopolitical, sexual and religious roles to make sense of his reign. Although the author makes extensive use of both ancient and modern literature, he largely ignores the non-literary sources. His conclusions are highly speculative and do not fit well with the available evidence.

Finally, two monographs have concentrated on the cult of Elagabal, the Emesene sun god. The first of these is Gaston Halsberghe’s misguided The Cult of Sol Invictus (1972), in which the author presents Elagabalus as a monotheist who aimed to unify the empire under a universal religion.³ We also encounter this view in the works of Hay and Thompson, who likewise regard Elagabal as a monotheistic god. The notion is resolutely dismissed by Martin Frey, the author of the excellent work Untersuchungen zur Religion und zur Religionspolitik des Kaisers Elagabal. Frey gives valuable information about Elagabal and the other gods worshipped in Emesa, which he subsequently applies to reconstruct and interpret Elagabalus’s religious reforms in Rome.

THE LEGACY OF ELAGABALUS

Although some valuable contributions have been made by the authors mentioned above, a plausible reconstruction of the reign of Elagabalus, encompassing not only religious, but also political, economic and other aspects, is still lacking. Moreover, most of the aforementioned authors are primarily concerned with the (alleged) reality of the emperor’s reign, i.e. what happened, and why. While these are legitimate and interesting questions, much can be learned about the life and legacy of Elagabalus through the images of him that have been constructed throughout history. The term is used in a broad sense here, including not only statues, reliefs and paintings, which provide us with images in the literal sense of the word, but also literary representations. Hence, the portrayal of the emperor Tiberius as a sinister tyrant in the writings of Tacitus also constitutes an ‘image’, as does the favourable description of the emperor Trajan in Pliny’s Panegyricus.

When looking at images of emperors, we can distinguish between the positive images sent out by the imperial administration – what we may term imperial propaganda – and the varied images constructed by contemporaries and people from later historical periods. For instance, the emperor Commodus presented himself to his subjects as Hercules and gladiator to boost his prestige, but was portrayed as a mad tyrant by Roman historians – a reputation he has kept to this day, as testified by the Hollywood blockbuster Gladiator. The infamous Nero was likewise condemned by ancient authors, leading to many representations in modern popular culture – mostly as a bloodthirsty monster.

Images of Elagabalus abound. There is the imperial propaganda, spread during the emperor’s reign; the negative portrayals by ancient authors; and the many different representations of the young ruler in modern historiography, art and literature. To a greater or lesser extent, all these images, whether visual or literary, all derive from a historical core: the ‘real’ Elagabalus who, at least in name, ruled the Roman world from 218 to 222.

Why has this particular emperor, whose reign lasted only four years during one of the lesser-known eras of Roman history, inspired so many diverse and colourful incarnations? How has he been constructed as one of Rome’s notorious ‘bad emperors’ in ancient literature, and how did his negative reputation evolve in later times, both in the learned books of scholars and in the plays, novels and paintings of artists? Which elements of Elagabalus’s personality and reign have been highlighted, exaggerated or distorted by those portraying him? Which elements have been downplayed or ignored? Which values and notions can be discerned in the different depictions and evaluations of the emperor?

These are all intriguing questions, since the answers will not only tell us about how Elagabalus has been perceived and reinvented throughout the ages, but also shed light on the ways history is constantly being reimagined by scholars, writers and artists to reflect contemporary values, ideas and preoccupations. For a Christian author, Elagabalus may be first and foremost a heathen; for a staunch republican, he may represent the vices of absolute monarchy; for a modern gay man, he may be a congener to sympathise with. The modest size and diverse nature of the priest-emperor’s fictional afterlife – or Nachleben, as the Germans call it – make him a suitable case study to examine this phenomenon.

EXAMINING THE EMPEROR

This book aims to do two things. The first is to reconstruct and interpret events and developments during the reign of Elagabalus, making use of ancient sources as well as modern academic literature. The second is to describe and interpret Elagabalus’s fictional legacy, and the myriad layers of ancient and modern images which have formed around the historical core. Of course, these two pursuits are very much intertwined. One cannot properly examine a subject’s Nachleben without some notion of the historical core from which it is ultimately derived. At the same time, one cannot plausibly reconstruct a historical person or period without taking later distortions and interpretations into account. This paradox is fundamental to all historical research and cannot be completely solved; but sound reasoning and the adequate use of non-literary sources and parallel examples can get us a long way towards a view of the life and legacy of this infamous emperor.

THE ANCIENT SOURCES

Before we turn our attention to Elagabalus, we should take a quick look at the source material. As has been mentioned, there are three ancient authors who deal extensively with the reign of the priest-emperor. The first is Cassius Dio, a senator from Bithynia (northern Turkey) who lived from c.164 to sometime after 229CE. His Historia Romana, written in Greek and encompassing 80 books, describes events from the foundation of Rome (traditionally dated to 753BCE) to the year 229CE. Large parts of Dio’s work have survived only as epitomes by the Byzantine scholars Xiphilinus and Zonaras. However, the second half of book LXXIX and the first half of book LXXX, including most of the description of Elagabalus’s reign, have come to us unabridged, with only a few lacunae.

As a Greek-speaking senator, Dio displays a clear affinity with Greek culture, as well as subscribing to the conservatism of the Roman elite. He wants the senate to have as much prestige and power as possible, while being hostile towards all influences which he deems alien to Greek and Roman culture. Although a contemporary of Elagabalus, Dio had no personal experience of the emperor, since he was not present in Rome during the latter’s reign. It seems likely that Dio based his account of this period mainly on the rumours which reached him in Asia Minor, where he lived at the time, and on the oral information he collected after his return to the capital.

The second author is Herodian, in all likelihood (the son of) an imperial freedman, a released slave who had worked in the imperial administration. He was probably from the west of Asia Minor and lived from c.175 to c.255CE.¹⁰ Herodian’s Ab excessu divi Marci, comprising eight books and written in Greek, describes events from the death of Marcus Aurelius (180CE) to Gordian III’s ascension to the throne (238CE). The work has survived intact and unabridged.

Like Dio, Herodian displays affinity with Greek culture and Roman traditions, although he is less concerned with the senate’s prestige than his fellow historian. His audience appears to have been the same as Dio’s, namely the Greek-speaking elite of the empire. However, he is much sloppier than his predecessor, especially where dates and years are concerned, and has a tendency to sacrifice factual correctness to the demands of dramatic narrative.¹¹ According to a careful comparison by Andrea Scheithauer, Herodian’s description of the period 218–22CE relies directly on Dio in many places.¹² Still, the former provides many details which are not mentioned by the latter. Whether Herodian witnessed the events he describes personally remains uncertain.

Thirdly, there is the Vita Antonini Heliogabali, allegedly written by one Aelius Lampridius and dedicated to the emperor Constantine. The Vita is part of the Historia Augusta, a series of imperial biographies describing the emperors from Hadrian (117–38CE) to Numerian (283–84CE). The work, which is composed in Latin, claims to be the product of six different authors, writing during the reigns of Diocletian and Constantine. In reality, as Ronald Syme has demonstrated, it must have been the work of one man, who probably lived around the end of the fourth century CE.¹³ Not much is known about the author, except that his sentiments indicate he was a pagan.

In writing the Vita Heliogabali, ‘Lampridius’ used both Dio and Herodian as sources (the former perhaps through an intermediary work). Like many of the later lives in the Historia Augusta, the Vita largely consists of wild inventions and fantastic anecdotes. However, it does appear to contain some reliable passages with regard to Elagabalus’s downfall. According to Syme, any factual information is probably based primarily on the account of the senator Marius Maximus, a contemporary of Elagabalus whose work has been lost.¹⁴ In general, though, the Vita Heliogabali is more interesting as a work of fiction than as a source for reconstructing the priest-emperor’s reign.

The accounts of Dio, Herodian and the author of the Vita Heliogabali are complemented by several other ancient and Byzantine authors. Most of these do not devote much attention to the period 218–22CE and add little of interest. We do, however, have many coins and inscriptions from the reign of Elagabalus, as well as some papyrus texts, imperial busts and archaeological remains.

THE MODERN SOURCES

Tracing Elagabalus’s legacy in Western art and literature over a period of many centuries is not an easy task. Along with Internet searches on variations of his name, I have searched on title and subject in the catalogues of several great libraries, such as the British Library and the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. My fellow scholar Leonardo de Arrizabalaga y Prado, who shares my interest in the Nachleben of Elagabalus, has kindly provided me with his findings, which represent the fruits of ten years of research. Lastly, I have made grateful use of the scattered references in scholarly and artistic works, most notably Marie-France David’s study Antiquité latine et Décadence.

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