2
L’Empereur, c’est l’Asie, et Rome est sa sujette.
Auguste Villeroy, Héliogabale (1902)
It is tempting to see the reign of Elagabalus as a clash between the Syrian ‘East’ and the Roman ‘West’, with the emperor’s downfall as the inevitable result – and indeed many scholars have adopted such a view.¹ It is beyond dispute that the young emperor’s reign contains many elements which bear a strikingly un-Roman, ‘Oriental’ character. This is not only attested by the works of the contemporary historians Cassius Dio and Herodian, but also by many imperial coins and inscriptions dating from the priest-emperor’s reign. The god Elagabal, depicted as a black stone on some of Elagabalus’s coins, was a distinctively Emesene god. The emperor styled himself as Elagabal’s high priest and used this title, including the god’s name, in inscriptions and on coins. In the words of Fergus Millar, ‘any discussion should take into account the clear evidence that the representation of the cult [of Elagabal] was accompanied by features which deliberately accentuated its “Oriental”, “Syrian” or “Phoenician” features.’² With this in mind, it seems justified to put some emphasis on Elagabalus’s Syrian background. Knowledge of the Syrian town of Emesa, Emesene religion, and the Emesene family into which the future emperor was born might help us to gain some insight into the seemingly strange events of the period 218–22.
However, we should be hesitant in simply labelling Elagabalus ‘Oriental’ or ‘Syrian’. When applied to culture or religion, these terms cause many interpretative problems. It is also important to realise that, even before the revolt which would bring him to the Roman throne, the boy and his family had very close ties to the imperial house. The men of the Emesene family had been Roman citizens for two centuries. Could Elagabalus really have been a total stranger to Roman culture, as he has often been depicted by both ancient and modern historians? It is a question well worth exploring, and this chapter will not only discuss to what extent Elagabalus could be considered ‘Syrian’ or ‘Oriental’, but also to what extent he might be seen as ‘Roman’.
EMESA AND ITS HISTORY
Relatively little is known of Emesa (modern-day Homs), the Syrian city which would provide the Roman world with two emperors in the third century CE. It was located in the province of Syria Phoenice, on the bank of the river Orontes, on the edge of the Syrian–Arabian desert. Emesa was probably not big, but could still be regarded as a notable city. It is not certain what its economic basis was. Both Emesa and Palmyra, a city located to the east, seem to have shared a similar fate of a rise in the first century BCE and decline in the fourth century CE. It is possible that a trade route existed between these cities, on which Emesa was economically dependent. While in Phoenicia, the second-century physician Galen claimed to have purchased some Indian herbs which had been brought there by camels.³ This would imply that the herbs came to the Phoenician coast overland, in which case they might well have travelled through Palmyra and Emesa. The Emesene necropolis offers more clues. Two objects which have been found in one of the graves probably came from Iran and Central Asia. This makes it likely that there was indeed a long-distance trade route connecting Phoenicia, Emesa and Palmyra to faraway eastern lands.⁴
Perhaps some trade was carried along the river Orontes. Small boats might have been able to get as far upstream as Emesa, providing a direct connection between the city and the Mediterranean. However, since the river was not deep enough for bigger boats to reach Emesa, the possibilities for river trade must have been limited. More important for the city’s life support was undoubtedly the damming of a nearby lake, which perhaps occurred in the first century CE. By means of this dam, much water could be gained to irrigate the lands surrounding the city.
To which culture(s) did the inhabitants of Emesa belong? In a region as culturally diverse and mixed as Roman Syria, probably no unambiguous answer can be given to this question. Possible Roman structures have been noted during excavations on the tell in the south-west of the old city.⁵Several objects which have been found in the Emesene necropolis depict figures from Greek mythology, for example Apollo and Medusa. Although most objects seem to be of Syrian origin, they do not depict any particular Syrian deities. A golden ring, probably from around the beginning of the Christian era, shows a relief bust in Hellenistic style. The bust is presumably that of an Emesene monarch.⁶ The portrait is highly reminiscent of the portraits of the Julio-Claudian emperors, except for one detail: the earring, which is a typical feature of Parthian and, later, Persian kings. The custom of wearing earrings was probably widespread throughout the Near East. Apparently, the depicted monarch wanted to display his adherence to Greco-Roman culture, but at the same time wanted to stress his identity as a Syrian aristocrat. Emesene inscriptions are all in Greek, but Semitic names were common in the area where the city was located.
Herodian describes Elagabalus’s grandmother, Julia Maesa, as ‘a Phoenician by race, from the city called Emesa in Phoenicia’.⁷ The historian deems the name of the Emesene sun god, called ‘’Ελαιαγάβαλος’ in his work, to be Phoenician as well. This could be taken as evidence that Phoenician language and culture had spread further inland from the coastal region. However, it is more likely that the institution of the province Syria Phoenice by Septimius Severus had given rise to a sort of pseudo-ethnic identity. Some Emesenes, at least, claimed to be Phoenician: in his Greek novel, Aithiopica, the novelist Heliodorus describes himself as ‘a Phoenician man, an Emesene’.⁸
The history of Emesa sheds further light on the question of which cultures influenced it. There is a reference to ‘the people of the Emesenes’ in Strabo’s Geographica. Around the middle of the first century BC, they were governed by Sampsigeramus and his son, Iamblichus, who also ruled the city of Arethusa. Strabo names Arethusa as an example of his observation that peoples are more civilised and have a better-organised government in proportion to their proximity to the Syrians (as opposed to the more barbaric, less organised ‘Arabians and Scenitae’). Yet Iamblichus is described as an ‘Arabian phylarch’ by Cicero and as ‘the king of some Arabs’ by Dio.⁹ This seems to imply that the Emesenes were originally a nomadic tribe from the Arabian desert. However, what the ancients meant by the term ‘Arab’ is at present indefinable. Arabs could indeed originate from the Arabian desert or lead a nomadic life, but certainly not all of them did. Therefore, we cannot make any definite statements about the origins of Sampsigeramus and his people.
The name Emesa is first mentioned in connection with Sampsigeramus II, ‘king of Emesa’, who ruled in the middle of the first century CE.¹⁰ We have several mentions of Emesene rulers in the first centuries BCE and CE, who probably all descended from the original Sampsigeramus. When Roman influence in the Near East grew in the first century BCE, they became Roman allies. Cicero speaks approvingly of Iamblichus, ‘whom men consider to be [...] a friend of our state’, because the latter warned him of a threatening Parthian invasion in 51BCE.¹¹ This friendship with Rome allowed the Emesene monarchy to prosper well into imperial times. Judging from the many costly objects which have been found in the necropolis, the dynasty was quite wealthy. It forged strong ties with other royal families by means of marriages, especially with the royal family of Judaea. The Emesene rulers could also muster considerable forces to give military aid to the Romans, and did so on several occasions.
Emesa must have played its role as a client-kingdom well, because in 54 CE, Nero added the district of Sophene to the lands of the Emesene king Sohaemus. Despite this apparent good fortune, Sohaemus is the last Emesene king known to us. He is mentioned as ‘great king, friend of Caesar and friend of the Romans’ in an inscription on the pedestal of a bronze statue found in Baalbek (the former Heliopolis).¹² From this inscription, we also learn that Sohaemus had been granted the ‘ornamenta consularia’ by the Romans and was the city patron of Heliopolis. His family must have achieved Roman citizenship some time during the Julio-Claudian era, since he bears the name Julius. This probably occurred when Augustus made Iamblichus II his client king in 20BCE.
It is likely that Sohaemus or his immediate successor fell victim to the policy of consolidation of the Near East of the Flavian dynasty (69–96CE), in which client kings were removed and the emperor established a direct rule over the area. A sepulchral monument at Emesa bears an inscription, dated in 78/79CE, naming a Julius Sampsigeramus.¹³ Although the name suggests that this person was a member of the Emesene royal family, no royal titles or royal relatives are mentioned. Presumably the kings of Emesa had been deprived of their power by this time.
In the second century CE, grave inscriptions from Emesa provide us with several other names which seem to suggest that their bearers descended from the Emesene rulers of the first centuries BCE and CE. While this may have been the case, however, they did not play such important roles on the political stage of the Near East as their (possible) royal ancestors. Emesa seems to have dwindled into political insignificance after the days of Sohaemus. Only by the time of the Severans, more than a century later, would the city once again make it into Roman history books.
THE CULT OF ELAGABAL
One of the few things we know about religious life in Emesa is that Elagabal was worshipped there. The name of the god is attested by both Cassius Dio and Herodian, who call him ‘’Ελεγάβαλος’ and ‘’Ελαιαγάβαλος’ respectively. Inscriptions from the period before 218CE give the deity the name Elagabalus, Aelagabalus, or Helagabalus, while imperial coins and inscriptions from the reign of Elagabalus consistently name him Elagabal.
It has long been debated what the origin of the god’s name might have been. In 1976, new light was shed on this question by the publication of a relief found 80km south-east of Emesa (see Fig. 2).¹⁴ The relief, probably made in the first century CE, shows two deities, labelled with Aramaic names in Palmyrene letters. The one on the left is portrayed as an armed man, called “RSW’ (‘Arsu’). The one on the right does not have an anthropomorphic shape, but is depicted as a conical stone or mountain with an eagle perched on top. It is labelled “LH’GBL’, which Jean Starcky reads as ‘Ilāhâ Gabal’ or ‘God Mountain’.¹⁵ Although there are no mountains in the immediate vicinity of Emesa, this reading has been accepted by most scholars.
Mountain gods were worshipped mainly in Anatolia and the northern parts of Syria, in some cases up until imperial times. They were of a powerful, celestial nature, and were often likened to Zeus/Jupiter, like Jupiter Turmasgades and Jupiter Dolichenus in the area around Doliche in the region of Commagene. From well before the period of Greek civilisation, many mountain gods were symbolised by an eagle. The god of Mount Argaios, which features on coins from Caesarea (Cappadocia), is sometimes depicted as a stone or mountain with an eagle on top. Several Emesene coins depict Elagabal in a similar manner. Others show a big, conical stone and eagle in a temple.¹⁶
Clearly, what we are seeing here is a ‘betyl’, an abstract object of worship. The word is probably derived from the Semitic ‘bethel’ (‘BT’L’), which means ‘house of god’. Betyls are quite common in Semitic religions. Often, they come in the form of large stones. This was also the case with the betyl of Elagabal, which is described by Herodian: ‘There was no actual man-made statue of the god, the sort Greeks and Romans put up; but there was an enormous stone, rounded at the base and coming to a point at the top, conical in shape and black.’¹⁷ A large stone seems like an appropriate home for a mountain god. However, both Dio and Herodian make it clear that Elagabal, at least by the third century CE, was a sun god. Herodian records that some small projecting pieces and markings on the stone were believed to be a rough picture of the sun. The stone itself was said to have fallen from heaven. Perhaps it was believed to come from the sun. When Elagabalus brought Elagabal to Rome, the deity was exclusively represented as a sun god. Several of Elagabalus’s coins bear the legend ‘SANCT(O) DEO SOLI ELAGABAL(O)’ and the emperor styled himself ‘sacerdos amplissimus dei invicti Solis Elagabali’.
When did this transformation from mountain god to sun god occur? It certainly predates the reign of Elagabalus, since an inscription from the period 198–209CE, erected by Emesene soldiers, is devoted to ‘Deo Soli Aelagabalo’.¹⁸ Emesene coins from the reign of Antoninus Pius show the radiate head of a sun god. The only other god attested on Emesene coins is Elagabal, represented by his betyl. It might go too far to identify the anthropomorphic sun god with Elagabal, but at least these coins show that by the middle of the second century CE, the worship of the sun had gained an important place in the religious life of Emesa.
Perhaps Elagabal was worshipped as a mountain god by the original inhabitants of the Emesene region and became a sun god after Sampsigeramus had established his rule there. The name Sampsigeramus contains the name of the Arab sun god Shamash, and means ‘the Sun has decided’. The word ‘phylarch’, used by Cicero to describe Iamblichus, was also used in the Septuagint (1 Esdras 7/8), where it may designate a ‘chief priest of a tribe among the Jews’. Moreover, the inscription from Baalbek mentioned earlier shows that Iamblichus’s descendant Sohaemus at least had some honorific religious function in Heliopolis.
As far as we can see, Elagabal was first and foremost a local deity. Nevertheless, Herodian asserts, he attracted many worshippers from outside Emesa as well. According to the historian, the city functioned as a regional religious centre: ‘There was a huge temple built there, richly ornamented with gold and silver and valuable stones. The cult extended not just to the local inhabitants either. Satraps of all the adjacent territories and barbarian princes tried to outdo each other in sending costly dedications to the god every year.’¹⁹ Unfortunately, no archaeological remains of this splendid temple have been found. It is depicted on some Emesene coins, however, showing an elevated building with stairs leading up to a six-column façade, supporting a tympanon. Between the columns, the betyl of Elagabal is visible. In Avienus’s fourth-century work Descriptio orbis terrae, it is mentioned that the people of Emesa devotedly worshipped the sun and had a temple (presumably for the sun) which competed with the Lebanon mountains in height.²⁰
All in all, there seems to be enough evidence to confirm the existence of a big, impressive temple for Elagabal in Emesa, which attracted worshippers from outside the city. Nevertheless, we should be careful not to overestimate the importance of Elagabal outside the immediate vicinity of Emesa. There are only four inscriptions calling the god by name which undoubtedly date back before 218CE.²¹ Three of those were certainly erected by people from Emesa. We are not dealing with a god who was well known throughout the empire before the rise of Elagabalus.
The cult of Elagabal was led by a high priest, whose position might have been hereditary. In the Epitome de Caesaribus, we can read that Elagabalus was not the first one in his family to hold this high office. The function had earlier been performed by his great-grandfather, Bassianus.²² Of course, the fact that members of a prominent local family attain a prestigious position in successive generations does not mean that that position is hereditary. But Anthony Birley suggests that the name Bassianus is the Latinised form of the Phoenician word ‘basus’, which means ‘priest’.²³ If so, there would be a clear link between the priesthood of Elagabal and the family of Elagabalus. Several of the boy’s family members – including his great-uncle Caracalla – bore the name Bassianus or Bassiana. According to Herodian, Elagabalus’s original name was Bassianus as well.
In his account of Elagabalus’s acts as high priest in Emesa, Herodian gives a detailed description of the ceremonial dress the boy wore:
He used to appear in public in barbarian clothes, wearing a long-sleeved ‘chiton’ that hung to his feet and was gold and purple. His legs from the waist down to the tips of his toes were completely covered similarly with garments ornamented with gold and purple. On his head he wore a crown of precious stones glowing with different colours.²⁴
Later, while performing rites for Elagabal in Nicomedia, the young emperor reportedly wore purple and gold as well. He had adorned himself with necklaces, bangles and a precious tiara-shaped crown. ‘The effect was something between the sacred garb of the Phoenicians and the luxurious apparel of the Medes,’ Herodian states.²⁵ In fact, the outfit he describes most closely resembles the so-called ‘Iranian’ dress of some Syrian priests, which is attested in Palmyra and some places near the Mediterranean coast.
As has been discussed in the previous chapter, Herodian also tells us about the rites which the high priest of Elagabal had to perform to honour his god. He describes how Elagabalus danced around the altars to the music of flutes, pipes and other instruments. Several women joined him in his dance. Many bulls and sheep were sacrificed, and wine was poured in front of the altars, so that it mixed with the blood. There are several imperial coins showing Elagabalus standing next to an altar with a ‘patera’, a dish for pouring libations, in his hand. Sometimes, a small bull is depicted next to the altar. The twig the emperor is holding in his left hand may have been a Syrian fertility symbol.²⁶
Both Cassius Dio and the Historia Augusta claim that the emperor sacrificed not only animals, but children as well. It seems unlikely that human sacrifice was still practised in Semitic religions in the third century CE. Tertullian mentions human sacrifices to Saturn in African cities in hisApologeticus, written in 197CE.²⁷ Although many urns containing the ashes of young children have been found in North Africa, Sardinia and Sicily, there is still no consensus on whether children were sacrificed here in imperial times or not. Even if they were, however, we do not have any contemporary Syrian parallels for the practice of human sacrifice. It has been thought that Lucian, in his second-century work De Dea Syria, mentions children being thrown to their deaths from the temple of Atargatis in Hierapolis, but Jane Lightfoot points out that ‘they lower them down by hand’ is a much more likely translation of the words in question.²⁸ Moreover, according to the Historia Augusta, Elagabalus examined his victim’s vitals: a typically Etruscan and Roman ritual, which has nothing to do with Semitic religions whatsoever. This makes the claim that Elagabalus practised human sacrifice even more unlikely.
Cassius Dio mentions many other acts of Elagabalus, whether fictional or not, which could be connected to the boy’s religious convictions. According to Dio, Elagabalus abstained from eating swine flesh and circumcised himself. These details are striking, not only because they are reminiscent of Judaism, but also because they do not appear to be of a scandalous character, which lends them an air of credibility. Perhaps Emesene religion had, to some extent, been influenced by Judaism, although there are no other clues pointing in this direction. Dio also mentions that Elagabalus planned to cut off his genitals altogether, as the ‘galli’ of Cybele and Atargatis did, though he assures us that this desire was prompted solely by the emperor’s effeminacy. Furthermore, the historian relates how Elagabalus wore many amulets and locked up a lion, a monkey and a snake together in the temple of Elagabal, throwing human genitals in among the animals.²⁹ Of course, we should keep in mind that Dio was probably more interested in portraying the emperor’s religion as ‘weird’ than descriptive accuracy, which calls his remarks into question.
It would be going too far to discuss all these stories and their likelihood extensively. Even if we did, it is unlikely that a coherent, meaningful picture of the cult of Elagabal and its rites would emerge. Elagabal had evolved from a mountain god to a sun god, but had maintained the name and the betyl of his original identity. The meaning of other aspects of his cult were probably likewise blurred. There are no traces of a deep, philosophical theology. As far as we can see, the cult of Elagabal was mainly about worshipping Elagabal.
OTHER GODS IN EMESA
The cult of Elagabal has sometimes been perceived as a form of monotheism.³⁰ However, other gods could be worshipped together with Elagabal, as the first-century relief depicting Elagabal and Arsu demonstrates. In the previous chapter, we have discussed a Spanish inscription honouring Elagabal, Athena Allath and (probably) Kypris Charinazaia. Both these goddesses were connected to Syria. Allath, who is usually depicted as a companion of the sun god Shamash, was worshipped by the Nabataeans, in Emesa and in Palmyra. Because she bore weapons, she was identified with the Greek warrior goddess Athena. Kypris Charinazaia was a Cyprian love goddess who was probably exported to Carthage, where she became the moon goddess Urania. According to Herodian, the Phoenicians saw Urania as the moon goddess Astroarche.³¹ This goddess, also known as Astarte or Atargatis, can be equated with Lucian’s ‘Syrian Goddess’, and was one of the major deities in Semitic religions. To what extent Elagabal, Urania and Athena Allath should be considered a standard Emesene triad is impossible to tell.
Two other gods who were worshipped in Emesa are Azizos and Monimos, a divine pair representing Venus as the Morning and Evening Star. They originate from Arabia and were originally worshipped in the form of a singular male deity. In the works of the fourth-century emperor Julian, we can read that Azizos was associated with Ares and Monimos with Hermes.³² This probably refers to the deities’ militant qualities on the one hand, most prominent in Azizos, and their guiding or shepherding qualities on the other, especially associated with Monimos. They were both escorts and protectors of the sun in its daily course, but also of caravans and travellers in the desert, and were thought to be the channel for many blessings. An altar dedicated to Azizos has been found at Emesa.³³ Apparently, the gods were not always worshipped together, and should not be seen as inseparable twins. Both Azizos and Monimos occur frequently as personal names in inscriptions from the region. An Emesene king of the first century CE was named after Azizos as well.
One inscription which has been found in Emesa is dedicated to ‘the lady Semea’.³⁴ It is hard to discern anything about her identity. Like other forms attested in inscriptions from the Greek East – Semia, Seimios – the name is probably derived from the Greek ‘σημήϊον’, or a close variant of this word. According to Lucian, the ‘σημήϊον’ was a divine standard in the temple of Atargatis in Hierapolis. He records that ‘it is called “the standard” by the Assyrians themselves, who have not given it a name of its own, nor have they anything to say about its place of origin or form.’³⁵ On coins from Hierapolis, it is depicted as a pole hung with four rings, surrounded by a structure with a pedimented top and side-pieces descending as far as the lowest ring. On top is a dove. Many different shapes and forms exist elsewhere throughout Roman Syria, often more or less resembling a Roman standard. According to Lightfoot, the standard came from an ancient Syrian tradition and should not be seen as the reflection of a deity ‘Simios’, ‘Simia’ or ‘Simi’.³⁶ However, since the Emesene inscription specifically speaks of a ‘lady Semea’, it seems likely that the standard was in fact interpreted as the reflection of a goddess by the people of Emesa, even if this may not have been the case elsewhere.
While several gods were worshipped in Emesa, we should be wary of simply grouping them together as the ‘Emesene pantheon’. Since virtually nothing is known of the myths which existed about these gods, it is hard to tell if they were all involved in a cohesive mythology, like the Olympian pantheon of Greece. The fact that several gods could appear together in an image or inscription does not necessarily imply that they had a well established, generally recognised relation to each other, like for instance Zeus, Hera and Ares. There seems no reason to doubt that Elagabal was the supreme deity of the city, but apart from that, it might be best not to make too many assumptions.
THE FAMILY OF ELAGABALUS
Although no record of it has been preserved, it is likely that Emesa received a remarkable visitor in the early 180sCE. The future emperor Septimius Severus, at that point legate of the Syrian Legion IV Scythica, probably came to visit the city and met Julius Bassianus, high priest of Elagabal, and his youngest daughter, Julia Domna. A few years later, when he was governor of Gallia Lugdunensis, Severus’s wife died. The widowed governor wrote to Julius Bassianus and asked for the hand of Julia Domna, presumably because her horoscope predicted that she would be married to a king.
In 187CE, Septimius Severus and Julia Domna married. The event would prove to be very significant, not just for Julia Domna, but for her Emesene family as well. Six years later, after the murder of emperor Pertinax in 193CE, Severus marched to Rome with several legions and successfully claimed the imperial throne. He defeated the other pretenders and styled himself the adopted son of Marcus Aurelius and the brother of Commodus, although his adoption took place 15 years after Aurelius’s death. Julia Domna became empress of the Roman world. Suddenly, the relatively insignificant city of Emesa had very close ties to the imperial house.
Even before Julia Domna became empress, her family was of high status and wielded considerable power in Emesa. The name Julia, borne by several family members, indicates that the family had probably received Roman citizenship before the reign of Claudius (41–54CE). It is not unlikely that they had descended from the Emesene kings of the first centuries BCE and CE. After all, several grave inscriptions indicate that the descendants of the dynasty might still have been around in the second century. The name Soaemias, as a niece of Julia Domna was called, is strongly reminiscent of the name Sohaemus, born by the Emesene king of the first century CE. The evidence is far from conclusive, but is tantalising nevertheless. If the Emesene kings indeed functioned as high priests of the sun god, as has been suggested above, it becomes even more compelling to link them to the high priest Bassianus and his descendants. But we cannot be sure, and should remain cautious of raising possibilities, even likely ones, to the level of certainties.
Whether Julia Domna had royal ancestors or not, her children were destined to become emperors. In 188, on 4 April, she gave birth to Lucius Septimius Bassianus. The next year a second child, Publius Septimius Geta, was born. Two years after Severus had become emperor in 193CE, he granted his oldest son the title ‘Caesar’. The boy was renamed Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, to put further stress on the claim that Severus was Marcus Aurelius’s adopted son. However, the young Antoninus would also become known as Caracalla, nicknamed after the soldier’s mantle or ‘caracallus’ he liked to wear. In 198, his father granted him the title of ‘Augustus’. Imperial power still lay in the hands of Severus, but the emperor had made it clear who his successor was going to be. Geta, the younger son, had received the title ‘Caesar’ in 198, when his brother was made ‘Augustus’. However, for reasons unknown to us, in 209 Severus decided to grant Geta the title ‘Augustus’ as well. The old emperor wanted his sons to rule together. On his deathbed in 211, he urged them not to fight each other.
Caracalla and Geta did not pay much heed to this fatherly advice. After a short period of joint rule and mutual suspicion, Geta was murdered by his brother. He suffered ‘damnatio memoriae’, which meant that his name and image were erased from papyri, inscriptions, wall paintings and buildings. Caracalla’s sole rule lasted until 217. He was murdered by his guards while on a military expedition against the Parthians. Just as suddenly as it had arisen, the Severan dynasty seemed to have come to an end. The emperor had left no sons, and power fell to Macrinus, one of the praetorian prefects. Julia Domna, who according to Dio suffered from breast cancer, despaired at these misfortunes and committed suicide.
Julia Domna’s elder sister, Julia Maesa, had not married a future emperor, nor did she give birth to any. Both her grandchildren, however, would gain the imperial purple. According to Cassius Dio, Julia Maesa had been born in Apamea, but even if this is true, she probably spent her youth in Emesa, where her father was high priest. She married C. Julius Avitus Alexianus, whose impressive career is known to us from two inscriptions.³⁷ Julius Avitus held the equestrian post of ‘procurator annonae’ around 193, was then promoted to senatorial rank by Septimius Severus, became a priest of Apollo, served as ‘praetor’ in 194 and was afterwards sent to command a legion, probably IV Flavia. He became governor of Raetia in 196 or 197 and held the consulate sometime between the years 198–200. After this prestigious post, he did not gain any offices for several years, perhaps due to the influence of Severus’s praetorian prefect, Plautianus, who may have seen him as a potential threat to his own position.³⁸ During the period 208–11, Julius Avitus accompanied Severus and his sons to Britannia as ‘comes’, official companion. He held the prefecture of the grain supply twice, was ‘comes’ to Caracalla on the emperor’s Germanic expedition in 213, became governor of Dalmatia for a short time, and, in 215–16, proconsul of Asia. In 216–17, he was ‘comes’ for the third time, accompanying Caracalla to Parthia. Lastly, the emperor sent him to Cyprus to advise the resident governor in 217.³⁹ It was probably there that Julius Avitus died ‘of old age and sickness’, some time before his grandson became emperor.⁴⁰
Julia Maesa did not accompany her husband on his journeys. Cassius Dio, Herodian and the Historia Augusta all state that she lived at the imperial court with her sister Domna. After Caracalla’s reign had ended and Julia Domna had committed suicide, Maesa returned to Emesa. According to Dio, she went back because her husband had died as well, but Herodian says she was forced to go by Macrinus. If the latter is the case, the emperor probably regretted his decision before long.
Julia Maesa and Julius Avitus Alexianus had two daughters, Julia Soaemias Bassiana and Julia Mammaea. Julia Soaemias was the elder of the two and was probably born before 180. An inscription tells us she was in Rome ‘among the equestrian wives’ at the secular games of 204, indicating that she must have been married by that time.⁴¹ Her husband was Sextus Varius Marcellus, whose sarcophagus has been found in the Italian town of Velletri (ancient Velitrae). The inscription on the sarcophagus, which is both in Latin and in Greek, mentions Soaemias with the honorific ‘clarissima femina’, woman of senatorial rank.⁴² She dedicated the inscription ‘cum filis’ (sic), ‘with her children’. The plural is intriguing. It indicates that Elagabalus was not an only child, but had at least one brother or sister. Unfortunately, none of the literary sources mention any other children. We can only assume they had already died when their brother came to power.
Sextus Varius Marcellus, in all likelihood Elagabalus’s father, came from the Greek city of Apamea, not far from Emesa. An inscription on a lead pipe from Rome confirms that he had indeed been ‘procurator aquarum’, in charge of the water supply, in the capital. Since the inscription gives both Severus and Caracalla the title ‘Augustus’ and mentions Geta only as ‘Caesar’, it must be dated between 198 and 209.⁴³ Julia Soaemias was still an equestrian wife during the secular games, so Marcellus cannot have become a senator before 204. He must have died before 218, because Elagabalus is not even mentioned by name in his funerary inscription, which would be unthinkable if he had been emperor at the time. However, apart from these, we do not have any points of reference for Marcellus’s career, which makes it hard to reconstruct its exact timeline.
Several attempts have been made to link the magistracies which are mentioned in the sarcophagus inscription to particular years. Both Pflaum and Birley assume that Marcellus could only have served as acting city prefect and acting praetorian prefect when the regular prefects were accompanying the emperor outside Rome.⁴⁴ This notion is rejected by Halfmann, who argues that the post of city prefect did not allow its occupant to be absent from Rome for a long time. Halfmann thinks that Marcellus held the two prefectures in extraordinary political circumstances, namely the period just before or just after the murder of Geta, when Caracalla dismissed both the city prefect and the praetorian prefect. Because he was a trusted ally of Severus’s oldest son, Marcellus supposedly got both jobs. As a reward for his loyal service, he was made a senator afterwards. Consequently, Marcellus served as ‘praefectus aerarii’ (prefect of the treasury) and was sent as governor to Numidia, perhaps in 213. He probably died while holding this post, since he did not hold the consulate which always followed it.⁴⁵ Halfmann’s reconstruction of Marcellus’s career sounds likely enough, but even if we were to reject it, the posts which this man held at various times make it clear that he must have been a trusted ally of Caracalla. It seems reasonable to assume that Marcellus received so much trust because he had married into Julia Domna’s family.
Julia Mammaea, the youngest daughter of Julia Maesa and Julius Avitus Alexianus, married twice in her life. We do not know the name of her first husband, but he must have been consul, since Caracalla allowed Mammaea to keep the rank of consul’s wife after her second marriage.⁴⁶ Her second husband, Gessius Marcianus, came from the Syrian city of Arca. He held several posts as a procurator, which marks him as a man from the equestrian order.⁴⁷ Dio mentions that Marcianus had a daughter, but does not say if she was Mammaea’s daughter as well or a child from an earlier marriage. The historian does identify Gessius Marcianus as the father of Mammaea’s son, the later emperor Severus Alexander. According to Dio, the boy’s original name was Bassianus, but Herodian names him Alexianus. As far as we can tell, they may both be right.
Alexianus Bassianus was born on 1 October, but it is uncertain in which year. Herodian says the boy had just turned nine when Julia Maesa returned to Emesa. Since the old lady’s return must have occurred between 11 April 217 and 16 May 218 (the respective days on which Macrinus and Elagabalus were proclaimed emperor), this would mean that Alexianus turned nine in 217 and must have been born on 1 October 208. Later, Herodian contradicts himself and says Alexianus was ‘in his twelfth year’ – and thus 11 years old – when he was adopted as son and heir by Elagabalus, an event which occurred on or around 26 June 221.⁴⁸ Since the age he gives for Elagabalus in this passage does not correspond with the age he gave for the boy earlier either, and since the earlier given age for Elagabalus is confirmed by Dio, we can assume that the second passage is erroneous and Alexianus was indeed born in 208.
This leads to an interesting implication. Since Caracalla was the emperor who decreed that Julia Mammaea could keep her rank as consul’s wife, Mammaea’s marriage to Marcianus cannot have occurred before 212, when Caracalla became sole ruler. Alexianus was born at least a few years earlier and was therefore probably the child of Julia Mammaea and her first husband. Dio might not have known of Mammaea’s former marriage, and could have erroneously assumed that Alexianus was Marcianus’s son.
When we look at the Emesene family as a whole, including the men who married into it, we get the impression of a local elite which benefited from its newly forged ties to the imperial house. Emesa was granted the status of a Roman colony by Caracalla. The family of Julia Domna was likewise favoured. Around 200, the husbands of Julia Maesa, Julia Soaemias and Julia Mammaea were quite active in the ruling of the empire and held posts as governors and consuls. Both Julia Maesa’s husband, Julius Avitus Alexianus, and Julia Soaemias’s husband, Sextus Varius Marcellus, rose from equestrian to senatorial rank. Yet the family did not disregard its Syrian roots. Julia Soaemias and Julia Mammaea both married men of Syrian origin. While acting as governor of Raetia, Julius Avitus Alexianus dedicated an altar to ‘Deus patrius Sol Elagabalus’.⁴⁹ And, of course, one of Julius Bassianus’s great-grandchildren would follow in his ancestor’s footsteps and would become Elagabal’s high priest.
ELAGABALUS
The later emperor Elagabalus was neither born under that name, nor under the name of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, as he would style himself as emperor. According to Cassius Dio, the boy was originally called Avitus; Herodian gives him the name Bassianus. The Historia Augusta uses many variants, among which are Elagabalus, Elagabalus Bassianus Varius and Varius Elagabalus. The Epitome de Caesaribus confirms the name Varius. The most likely name we can make out of this is Varius Avitus Bassianus, with Varius referring to the boy’s father, Sextus Varius Marcellus; Avitus to his maternal grandfather, Julius Avitus Alexianus; and Bassianus being the ‘cognomen’ of the Emesene family. When he became emperor, Elagabalus would claim to be the bastard son of Caracalla. While theoretically possible, the story seems too good to be true, especially since a similar claim would later be made about Severus Alexander. There seems to be no good reason to doubt Dio’s assertion that Marcellus was Elagabalus’s father.
We have no exact date of birth for Varius Avitus Bassianus, but a rough indication can be given. According to Dio, Elagabalus defeated Macrinus on 8 June 218 and reigned for three years, nine months and four days, counting from that day, which means he perished on 13 March 222. The historian mentions that the emperor was 18 years old at the time of his death. This corresponds with Herodian’s remark that the boy was about 14 when Julia Maesa returned to Emesa, and places his birth somewhere between 14 March 203 and 13 March 204.
It is an intriguing question where the future emperor grew up. Herodian mentions that both the young Elagabalus and his cousin Alexianus were raised by their mothers and grandmother. Since Julia Maesa lived with her sister during the reigns of Septimius Severus and Caracalla, this would imply that they spent their youth at the imperial court (at Rome or elsewhere). Cassius Dio neither confirms nor contradicts this notion. However, it is supported by Aurelius Victor and the author of the Historia Augusta, who both state that Elagabalus went to Emesa only after the death of Caracalla.⁵⁰ The sarcophagus of Sextus Varius Marcellus, bearing an inscription dedicated by Julia Soaemias and her children, was found in the Italian city of Velletri. This indicates that Elagabalus and his mother spent at least some time living outside Emesa before 217.
An inscription from Thyatira, Asia Minor, indicates that Caracalla and the young Elagabalus were there together, probably in 214, or else a year later.⁵¹ It is possible that the future emperor and his mother were on their way to Emesa after Marcellus’s death. Alternatively, they may have spent the following years with Julia Domna in Antioch, or even have returned to Rome. Whatever the case may be, it confirms that Elagabalus spent at least part of his childhood at Caracalla’s court. This means that he must have come into contact with the traditional Roman ways of thinking and acting at a young age. When the boy was proclaimed emperor in Emesa in 218, he had already visited Asia Minor and Italy. He may even have lived in these places for the majority of his life. Only during the reign of Macrinus do we know for certain that he was staying at Emesa.
Nevertheless, the profoundly ‘Syrian“’, ‘un-Roman’ character of some aspects of Elagabalus’s reign cannot be denied. This may partially be due to the influence of Syrian advisers, who held the emperor in their sway. Yet their influence could hardly have been so great if Elagabalus had not agreed with them. Why did a boy who, at least to some extent, must have been aware of Roman thought and customs, choose to act in a way which not only alienated him from his subjects, but also provoked many of them?
Perhaps we should seek the explanation in the fact that most of Elagabalus’s ‘un-Roman’ acts – all of them, if we put the biased accounts of ancient historians aside and concentrate on epigraphic and numismatic evidence – were to do with the cult of Elagabal. Whether he had been brought up honouring the sun god, or whether he was a recent convert, the religious zeal which the emperor showed in honouring the deity cannot be interpreted as anything other than genuine. It is inconceivable that any ruler would impose such an ‘Oriental’, ‘un-Roman’ god as the Emesene Elagabal on the Romans for purely political reasons. Elagabalus was probably at least dimly aware of Roman culture and the boundaries it set even for emperors, but his acts were in the first place regulated by his desire to glorify and promote the supreme deity of the cult which he led. More than anything else, it was Elagabal who determined the thinking and acting of the priest from Emesa.