For the Love of the Gods: The History and Modern Practice of Theurgy - Brandy Williams 2016

Sosipatra
Stories from the Ancestors

Hellenistic civilization resembled the civilization in which we live today. People congregated in large urban areas—Alexandria, Athens, Rome, Ephesus—where the religious, political, and economic elite studied the world’s history, built libraries and museums, spoke numerous languages, and in general behaved like citizens of the world. Outside the cities, rural populations lived in the way their ancestors had always lived: working the land, celebrating festivals, and offering rituals to deities for their own health, the health of their animals, and good harvests.

When the Roman Empire absorbed the remains of the Greek Empire, the effect was less transformative and more additive. The Greek world kept the religion of the Olympians and the mystery religions. The temples in Egypt continued to function as religious and educational centers. Roman temples were established in the major urban areas under Roman control, but in the provinces, religion continued much as it had done before. The umbrella term “Graeco-Roman” points to the compatibility of Greek and Roman religious beliefs, although it obscures regional differences and does not describe or include the longevity, sophistication, and effect of Egyptian religion in this time period.

Sosipatra lived in the fourth century of the Common Era, quite late in antiquity. She was born near the Greek city Ephesus in what is now Turkey. Ephesus boasted one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, the temple of Artemis—not the Artemis of Sparta or Athens, but a fertile goddess more closely related to the mother of the mountains, Kybele. The first temple to this goddess housed a meteorite, a gift from Jupiter. The temple was destroyed and rebuilt numerous times over the centuries. In Sosipatra’s time (300—350 CE) the last magnificent temple still stood and was in use.

Eunapius recorded the life of Sosipatra among the many he documented. Many of the stories he tells read like mythology, events that happened in an ideal world. What was her life really like?

WHEN THE STUDENT IS READY,

THE TEACHER APPEARS

When she was still very young, Sosipatra loved to sneak away from the house and explore the estate. The first time she met her teachers she had crept down to the apiary. She laid quietly on the grass and watched the bees busily flying in and out of the stack of clay tubes. Some of the bees were brushed with yellow pollen, some bright orange.

“Do you like bees?”

Startled, she leapt to her feet. The two men had approached so quietly she hadn’t heard them. They wore the sturdy clothes of field workers, one old, the other older. She recognized them; the farm’s caretaker Oikonomos had hired them, but they were strangers to her and frightened her. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, turning to flee.

“Wait,” one of them called. She poised on one foot, ready to run. “What did you see?”

Concern for the hives dragged at her. “That one is ill,” she said, pointing to a tube in the middle.

The men squatted down to bring themselves to her eye level. “How can you tell?”

“It doesn’t have many bees. And it sounds wrong,” she said. “It needs help.”

The men traded a look. The one who had spoken said, “We think so too. What else did you see?”

“That one on the end,” she said. “It’s too full.” Before they could ask why, she said, “It has too many bees, and it sounds … well, full!”

“We’re here to give them some more room,” the man said. “Do you want to help?” He laughed when she nodded vigorously.

The older one lit a fire while the somewhat younger one draped a net over his head. “What’s your name?” she said.

“Call us Julian,” the young one said. “Our teachers were called Julian.”

“Is that really your name, though?” she persisted.

“Greeks can’t pronounce our names,” Old Julian said. He tamped burning twigs into a clay pot; smoke lifted up from the pot. He handed it to her. “Here, hold this.”

She held the stick at arm’s length. “Oikonomos says you’re holy men. What’s a holy man?”

Young Julian carefully pulled a clay plug out from the tube. Immediately bees boiled out of the clay cylinder. Julian took the clay pot from her and waved the smoke at the tube. “Anyone can be holy,” he said.

“How?”

Moving carefully, Old Julian answered. “Settle the body, still the mind, contemplate the divine.” He waved at the apiary, the fire in the pot, the bees. “Beekeeping is a good way to start.”

She worked with them all summer. The end of the season came too soon. She was excited that she got to sit at the big table like at her father’s birthday or the feast at the end of the festival of Artemis. At the same time she was sad that they were going back to Ephesus soon. She hated the crowded streets; there was no place to play, and her brothers and sisters teased her just because she was the youngest girl. Spending summers on the estate where she could run and drink in the sun and spend time alone was the great joy of her life.

She loved the view from the stone terrace, the fields and vineyards sloping down to the river. Her pater sat at the head of the table, her meter beside him, and all her brothers and sisters were arrayed beside her mother. The steward who managed the estate sat next to her father, along with all the important workers and slaves. She was down at the end next to the two Julians. They were wearing new clothes, not as fine as her father’s or the steward’s but nicer than the ones they wore in the fields.

“A toast!” Pater said, raising his wine cup. “To a successful harvest!” Sosipatra lifted her cup of water mixed with a bit of wine.

As the slaves laid food in front of them, Pater said to the steward, “Oikonomos, this is a very good year. The vineyard in particular is outstanding.”

Oikonomos nodded. “It’s these men,” he said, pointing to the two old men neatly tucking into their food. “They showed up dressed in skins and gave me a taste of their wine. I trusted them with the vines and they bore beautifully.” He paused. “And they coaxed more honey out of the bees this year too.”

Pater’s face lit with pleasure. “Thank you,” he said, lifting his glass to them. “I hope you plan to stay?”

The men traded looks. Old Julian cleared his throat. “Well, we had planned to move on,” he said. “We like travel.”

“At your age?” Pater boomed. “I have half your years and I hate it. My city house suits me so well I hate to leave it to take on the dangers of the road.” He looked down to the river and softened. “This view draws me back. You couldn’t ask for a better place to settle down.”

Young Julian said, “There is one thing that might interest us.”

Oikonomos leapt in. “Name your price.” Pater frowned at him but said nothing.

Old Julian said, “We would like to teach this child.” He inclined his head to the girl next to him.

Everyone turned to look at Sosipatra. She hid her face in her arm.

“The littlest girl?” Pater said, surprised. “Why on earth?”

“She has a fine mind. It interests us,” Old Julian said.

Meter said sharply, “Is that all that interests you?”

The men looked at each other and burst out laughing. “We have travelled together a long time,” the older one said, squeezing his companion’s hand with a loving smile. “And the passions of the blood have banked in us. Our joy is in the passions of the mind.”

“Why waste education on a girl?” Pater said, earning a glare from Meter. “Keep one of the boys.”

Her brothers lifted their heads in protest, babbling together about the pleasures of the city.

Young Julian shook his head, but Old Julian laid a hand on his arm. “We will teach anyone you wish,” he said diplomatically. “We’ve grown fond of the girl. In a strictly parental way,” he added quickly.

Seeing Meter’s concern, Oikonomos jumped in again. “She spends time down in the apiary. I’ve sent a slave to watch them, she’s come to no harm.”

“Well, if there’s nothing in particular for it, there’s nothing against it either,” her father decided. “If teaching the girl her letters pleases you as a hobby, I’ve no objection to it.”

Meter turned to her Pater. “What, leave her here?”

“She’ll have her nurse,” he said carelessly, throwing back his wine.

“She’s my daughter,” her mother said. “She needs to learn the ways of the women’s world.”

Her father shrugged. “We have many daughters,” he said. When the sisters in turn looked alarmed and started up about their friends in the city, he raised his hand. “We can spare one for a year.”

“We can teach her to keep accounts,” Old Julian said soothingly to Meter. At the same time Young Julian muttered under his breath, “Five years.” No one else commented, but Sosipatra was sure she had heard him.

Pater shrugged. “Teach her what you like.”

Meter laid a grim frown on the steward. “I trust her to you,” she said firmly. “She had best be in good health when we return.”

Later, Sosipatra watched her family climb into the carriage that would take them back to the city. Her nurse Tethe held her hand while Oikonomos waved at the party. Her two new teachers were there too.

Old Julian said to her, “Will you miss your meter?”

Tethe answered for her. “The woman barely knows her name,” she sniffed. “I’m the mother who raised her.”

Oikonomos sighed as the carriage wound out of sight. “That’s that for a year,” he said. “Thank all the gods.”

“Five years,” Young Julian said happily.

The steward fixed him with a measuring look. “You’re not just Chaldean, are you? You’re magi.”

Before either of the Julians could answer, Sosipatra burst out, “I really get to stay?”

They all laughed. Oikonomos tousled her hair affectionately. “You really get to stay,” he said. “We’ll all be your family now.”

The Chaldean Magi

By Sosipatra’s time, the term “Chaldean” was more or less synonymous with “magician.” Chaldea was a city in the ancient Babylonian Empire in what is now Iraq. The Babylonians were known throughout the ancient world for their astrological expertise. In fact, astronomers today still refer to the extensive and detailed records the Babylonian astrologers made of their observations.

The Persian Empire arose in the heartland of the old Babylonian Empire. Magus is an old Persian word describing Zoroastrian priests who served the Persian elite as astrologers and dream interpreters. The Greek used the borrowed “Magi” to describe the Magusseans, Aramaic speakers who left Persia and settled in what is now Turkey. They practiced a combination of heretical Zoroastrianism and Babylonian astrology, they were initiates of the religion of Mithraism, and they could summon spirits, daevas, as well as the spirits of the dead. Possibly the most famous magi in common culture today are those who show up in the New Testament to predict that the infant Jesus of Nazareth would grow up to become king of the Jews.

The Persian word magus became the Greek magi, which became the English magician. Our magic too deals with the planets, the elements, the gods and spirits. “Magician” is a worthy word to remind us that the Chaldeans are among our teachers.

TRUE JOURNEY IS RETURN

Pater stretched himself, drank off his wine, and waved for his cup to be refilled. “A worthy table,” he said to Oikonomos. “As full of delights as your accounts. You’ve done wonders with the place. I should stay away another five years.” His booming laugh filled the terrace.

Oikonomos nodded toward the Chaldeans. “Their aid has been without price,” he said. “They are as wise as they are hard working.”

Pater ignored him. “But tell me, where’s my girl? I left a daughter with you, and my wife will harangue me if I don’t ask after her.”

“Why, here I am, Pater,” Sosipatra said, surprised. How could he sit at the same table and not know her?

Pater blinked. “It’s not possible! My daughter is only … ten, I believe. Not so tall and … ” he searched for the right word. “Glowing,” he said.

“The country air suits her,” Tethe said.

Pater waved his wine glass at the Chaldeans. “Weren’t they supposed to be teaching you? How are you at keeping books?”

“Ask her anything you like,” Young Julian said.

Sosipatra lifted her head, composed beyond her years. “Ask me about your journey.”

Pater downed half his cup in a swallow. “My journey? It was filled with trouble, as they always are.”

“The horses broke out and had to be caught, so you left late, at midday,” Sosipatra said. “You didn’t travel as far as you planned and had to find lodging. It didn’t suit you.”

“True,” Pater said dismissively. “As many a journey begins.”

“The bed was too hard, and the blanket was thin. The chicken soup you ate tasted like water. There was no wine. The driver had to share your room, he slept on the floor, and he snored.”

Pater blinked. “Lucky guesses,” he said nervously, waving for more wine.

“Then the next day the wheel came off the coach. The horses had to be unhitched and everything unloaded so it could be replaced. Good thing the driver brought an extra,” she said. “While you were sitting beside the road it started to rain. Then you became afraid, thinking you were all vulnerable to attack.”

“Enough,” Pater said. “You amaze me!” He turned to her teachers. “How can she know such things?”

Oikonomos said, “They are magi.”

“Well then, keep her another five years!” Pater said enthusiastically. “In fact, I don’t think you’re magi at all. That’s right. You’re gods! Doesn’t Homer say the gods walk among us in disguise? You’ve turned my daughter into a goddess!” He waved expansively. “I love you guys!” Then he put down his wine cup and gently slumped onto the table.

Sighing, Oikonomos stood and beckoned to the nearest slaves. “We’ll get him to his bed.”

Sosipatra started to follow her nurse, but to her surprise her teachers called her away. “A word with you before bed,” Young Julian said. She still thought of him that way, although she knew how to say his name now. “If Tethe permits.”

“She’s never come to harm with you,” Tethe said serenely.

They led her into their study where she had spent so many happy hours, where she had entered the trance, inhaled the perfume, and looked into the bowl. Where the gods had filled her vision and her mind. Here, she truly felt that she was holy.

“It’s time we give you this,” Old Julian said, handing her a fine linen robe embroidered with the symbols for the planets. “It’s too big for you now, but you’ll grow into it.”

She gasped with pleasure, then pushed it away. “Oh, but you should give it to me when I’m old enough to wear it.”

Young Julian shook his head. “There’s no reason to wait. We’ve given you all the initiations we know. You truly have earned it.” He pulled a small case toward him and opened the lid. “Here are copies of all our texts, including the oracles. They’re for you alone, remember, so guard them well.” He locked the lid and gave her the key.

She closed it in her fist and held it to her heart. “I will,” she said, as solemn as a ten-year-old could be.

Young Julian held out his arms and closed them around her tight. “I love you, little seer,” he said.

Old Julian gave her his hug in turn. “Always remember you are the daughter of our hearts.” Sighing, he let her go. “Now off to bed with you.”

She turned at the door. “Tomorrow we work with the bees!” she reminded them.

When she woke the next day she found to her horror that she had overslept. Dressing hurriedly she ran out onto the terrace and almost collided with her father. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “There you are,” he said. “You can help us solve a mystery.”

A slave ran up and reported to Oikonomos, “They’re not on the road either.”

Oikonomos said, “Sosi, where are the Juliani?”

“In the apiary,” she said immediately. “I need to get down there too, I’m late.”

The slave shook his head. “They’re not. I checked.”

Oikonomos said, “I watched everyone go out into the fields as I do every day. They weren’t there. There’s nothing in their room.”

“They’re—they’re gone?” Sosipatra couldn’t believe her friends would leave her.

Pater hmphed. “We’ll find them. I was going to pay them this morning. I won’t have it said I turn out my servants without pay.”

“They’re gone,” Sosipatra said in a different voice. She felt the truth of it as they had taught her to do. “They always said when they left they’d journey to the western sea. That’s where they’ve gone.”

To her surprise, Pater didn’t doubt her. “Then they were gods. Or at least heroes,” he said. He looked her up and down. “They’ve left me a fine estate and a fine daughter.” He waved to Tethe. “Pack your things, and Sosipatra’s too. I’m taking her back to the city.”

The Chaldean Oracles

In antiquity the most famous Chaldeans were the two Juliani, Julian the Chaldean and Julian the Theurgist, who lived between 160 and 180 CE, several centuries before Sosipatra.

Julian the Chaldean and his son Julian the Theurgist conducted spiritual operations that resulted in a poem titled the “Chaldean Oracles.” They are presented as divinely authored; most of the oracles are spoken by a god or goddess in the first person. This poem gave the Neo-Platonic priest-philosophers a core technical methodology of theurgy. The method involved calling the gods directly into the body of another person. The receiver had direct communication with the gods, and the receiver could describe the gods and answer questions asked by the caller. The oracles talk about the sounds, sights, and sensations that will result from the calling, and distinguish between phenomena that are only phantoms and those that are genuine divine communication.

Among the Neo-Platonic philosophers, Plotinus may have read the Chaldean Oracles, while Iamblichus, Asklepigenia, and Proklos certainly did. Plethon attributed the oracles to Zoroaster, and his commentary, drawing heavily on Psellos, was published as The Magical Oracles of the Magi descended from Zoroaster. This is a memory or echo of the origin of the magi among the Zoroastrian priests and Magusseans. Plethon was the last Neo-Platonist to have access to the entire poem, but the existing fragments have been quoted and collected by scholars ever since.

It is noteworthy that the oracles specify using children as mediums. Julian the Chaldean employed his own son as his receiver. This practice sheds some light on why it was plausible to the ancient readers of Eunapius that Chaldean magicians would be interested in educating a small girl.

A MARRIAGE OF PHILOSOPHERS

“You told me she was wise,” Eustathius said. “You didn’t tell me she was beautiful.”

“If I am, what does it matter?” Sosipatra said, meeting his gaze squarely.

“Child!” her mother hissed. “Demurely, please!”

Eustathius laughed. “She’s right,” he said. “To a philosopher, what does the beauty of the world matter? The love of pleasure is a chain dragging down the soul. Remember Porphyry married Marcella for her spirit.”

“Spirit she has,” Pater said heartily. “Did I tell you about her first teachers, the gods?”

“They were magi,” Sosipatra said calmly.

Eustathius said curiously, “Are you a magi?”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I learned my first philosophy from them. Now that study is the meaning of my life. Is it yours?”

Eustathius and Sosipatra both ignored the protests of her father, mother, and nurse, intent only on each other. Eustathius said, “It is the only thing that matters. Only by diligent effort can we walk the road to the heavens that follows the gods.”

“Study, and calming the passions,” Sosipatra said. “The Divine is in everyone, but only the mind of the philosopher is the temple of the divine.”

“Whatever chance may bring, the calm mind endures,” Eustathius said. “The divine brings only good, evil comes from our own actions. If we continue in our prayers and labors, the divine is our reward.”

“I will have you, if you will have me,” Sosipatra said.

Then Tethe and Meter cried together, and Pater offered a toast, and Eustathius took her hands and looked dazed in a happy sort of way.

“Tell your fortune,” Pater said.

Eustathius squeezed her hand. “It’s not necessary.”

“She can, you know,” Pater said. “Go on, tell us. How many children will you have?”

Sosipatra held herself still until the images came. “Two … no, three.” She smiled at Eustathius. “They’ll all choose philosophy over fortune. Like us.”

“And Eustathius? Will he live a long life?”

Of all the people at the table only Tethe saw the moment of shock on her face before she smoothed it over with a smile. “Long and happy, of course,” she said.

Later, as Tethe made her ready for bed, she confided in her nurse what she had seen. “I only have five years with him.”

Tethe smoothed her hair. “Oh, Sosi.”

Sosipatra blinked back tears. “It isn’t enough time.”

“There’s never enough time with the ones we love,” Tethe said.

“No, I mean it isn’t enough time for him to learn what he needs to know,” she said. “His soul will fly to heaven, but he’ll only reach the moon. I—I’ll go farther, when my time comes.” Her eyes looked at something far away. “I’ll reach the sun.”

Paideia

The paideia of the expansive Hellenistic civilization drew its nourishment from two main sources: Kemet, long the font of civilization and knowledge for the entire Mediterranean basin; and Greece, whose seafaring traders drew in wealth from around the world, and whose colonies spread the Greek language and culture to every Mediterranean shore.

Despite the cosmopolitan feel of the era, Hellenic civilization had a kind of cohesion around the idea of education. The term paideia describes the education of young boys and men, more rarely women and girls, which inculcated the civic values of Hellenic culture, and in particular taught Greek philosophy.

The paideia did not essentially change under Roman rule. Greeks and Romans shared similar civic values. Educated Romans and Greeks spoke both Greek and Latin and contributed to the development of philosophy. Eurocentric education still teaches both Greek and Latin to enable the educated elites to read literature in both languages.

The Hellenistic paideia meant more than education—it preserved the “peace of the gods.” This peace was the compact made between humans and the forces of the divine that allowed human life to flourish. In Egypt/Kemet, Greece, and Rome, the urban temples served the gods who supported political empires and dynasties. Urban life is always supported by the abundance of the countryside, and urban Pagan religion is rooted in the gods of farm and wilderness. In the Hellenistic world outside the urban centers and the temple complexes there were shrines to the gods everywhere, on mountain peaks, beneath trees, in caves. The people who lived in those places knew the names of the spirits of these places, brought them offerings, and conducted rites for fertility of land and people. They do so still.

PERGAMON

Tethe eased herself onto a stool in the study. “They’re all washed, fed, and ready for the day,” she said. “The girl and I will play with them.”

Sosipatra had begun thinking of the new nurse as Young Tethe. “Thank you,” she said. “I couldn’t manage without you.”

“I never thought you’d turn into a city girl,” Tethe said. “You loved the quiet of the country. Here we are in brand-new Pergamon, with all these new buildings and all the people in them.”

“And the library,” Sosipatra said. “We don’t have one of those on the farm.” A commotion at the door brought her to her feet. “Or students either.”

“You don’t need them,” Tethe grumbled. “With your family’s fortune you could afford a poor husband, you can afford not to work.”

“I don’t need their money,” Sosipatra said. “I need their company.”

They crowded into her study, bright young men and women, laughing and chattering. “We’ve just come from Aedesius,” Chrysanthius said. “He was talking to us about the soul.”

“How interesting,” Sosipatra said. “That’s just what I was going to talk about.” As they packed themselves into the room, sitting on each other’s feet, she went on, “You know that the true home of the soul is in the stars.”

“Just as the Egyptians said,” Maximus piped up.

“And you know that the soul descends from the stars, through the sun and the moon, and so to earth.”

“So Aedesius said,” Chrysanthius put in.

“I am sure he told you that the soul is immortal. Did he also tell you that the soul has parts?” She almost laughed as the students leaned forward eagerly. “Some are vulnerable to punishment, even death—” She broke off, then stiffened, looking off into space.

“Teacher?” Maximus said nervously.

She barely heard him. “Philometer!” she cried out, holding out a hand as if to catch him.

Maximus whispered, “Who’s Philometer?”

Chrysanthius whispered back, “The one who was in love with her. He made her desire him.”

“Desire?” Maximus whispered, incredulous. “Our teacher?”

Chrysanthius nodded. “She suspected magic and asked Aedesius to intervene. Aedesius discovered the spell he was making and confronted him. Since then Philometer has since left her in peace.”

They stopped talking as Sosipatra shook herself. “Philometer has had an accident,” she said calmly. “His carriage hit a rough patch and overturned. His legs were about to be run over, that’s why I shouted at him.”

One of her slaves brought her a cup of water. She drank and went on, “His slaves dragged him out of the way and scraped his arms on the rough dirt. He’s being brought home in a stretcher.” She waved to a slave. “Run to his house and take him this,” she gave him a jar of ointment. “It will help to heal his arms.”

“Divine Sosipatra,” Maximus breathed.

“She sees everything, like a god,” Chrysanthius said.

Laughing, she shook her head. “Only those I care about.”

“You still care for him?” Maximus said, surprised.

“Of course I do,” she said briskly. “He had the good sense to admire me.”

Julian and Sallustius

Eunapius tells us that Sosipatra’s son Antoninus travelled to Alexandria, studied at the Kemetic temples, and learned Kemetic mysteries. Students flocked to him; he offered lengthy lectures on Plato but refused to talk about theurgy, probably because it was already dangerous to do so in a world ruled by Christian emperors.

Not every emperor was Christian in late antiquity. Eunapius tells us that the emperor Julian spent time in Pergamon in his youth. He studied philosophy with Aedesius, and when he became emperor he sent for two of Aedesius’s students to continue his studies. Chrysanthius declined, warned by a god in a dream not to go. Maximus scoffed at the dream, saying that educated Greeks challenged the decrees of the heavenly powers, and left to join the emperor.

As a child, Julian had been a neglected son of the emperor’s family, a nephew of Constantine the Great. His early education focused on the classics and steeped him in the paideia; only later in life was he exposed to Christianity, and it did not take root.

Constantine’s heirs waged a campaign to kill off rivals for the emperor’s seat. As a discounted relative, Julian managed to survive the campaign. He found a place in the army and successfully defended the Roman Empire from the Persians. When the last of Constantine’s other heirs died, the soldier-scholar was proclaimed emperor by his troops.

Julian ruled for only two years. In that time he declared himself Pagan, cancelled Christian tax and teaching privileges, and began the reconstruction of Pagan temples. He also acted to protect the Jewish people. He wrote prolifically and is counted as one of the philosopher emperors.

Sallustius was his great friend and probable lover. When they were separated in his youth, Julian wrote “Consolation to Himself upon the Departure of Sallustius.” He dedicated his “Hymn to King Helios” to Sallustius. All these texts are extant and available online.

Julian’s ambition was his downfall—he died from an arrow wound acquired in a bid to conquer the Persian Empire. Christians immediately labeled him “apostate” and did not again let the education of an emperor’s heir proceed without direct Christian supervision.

The fortunes of Maximus rose and fell. When Julian died he was stripped of his wealth and tortured, then befriended by a high placed scholar and restored to his wealth. He visited Constantinople as a Pagan hero. Eunapius says mysteriously that he risked a theurgic operation there. Subsequently he once again fell out of favor and was arrested and killed.

THE LESSONS OF SOSIPATRA

Sosipatra was not only a woman philosopher, more accomplished than her husband, she was also a child when she began her studies. This confronts us with our own values about the appropriate interaction of children with magic. On the one hand, it would seem that using a child as a medium would expose the child to images her life experience would not prepare her to handle. I think it’s important as theurgists to understand that children are not essential to the rites; we can use ourselves as oracles and we can partner with other adults. I strongly hold the value than any magic should benefit the operator—if a child does magic, the child should be the beneficiary.

On the other hand, we do raise our children in our own faiths, and our practice with children may include divination. Theurgists who are parents may decide to engage in theurgic ritual with their children as part of their family magic. The ancients certainly did—Julian the son was the medium for Julian the father, Asklepigenia learned theurgic magic from her father, and the author of the Mithras Liturgy wrote the ritual for his daughter. Passing the techniques within the family is a theurgic tradition.

It is interesting that two of the stories of Sosipatra’s visions involved what was happening in the present but at a distance, when she saw what happened in her father’s journey and when she saw the accident that befell Philometer. However, she did foresee her husband’s death, so some of her visions did involve the future as well. Clearly she was an accomplished seer.

Eunapius frames the story of Sosipatra’s life as a fabulous tale with mysterious magicians who vanish without a trace, knowledge of things happening and things to come, and childhood signs of future greatness. Sosipatra appears in history as a serenely beautiful philosopher who was wife, mother, student, and teacher, devout in her studies as well as a practical theurgic magician.

Notes on the Story

The biographer Eunapius included a lengthy sketch of Sosipatra’s life in his collection of the “Lives of the Philosophers”; Wilmer Wright’s translation is available online. Eunapius does not record the names of Sosipatra’s parents, siblings, or teachers. Oikonomos, “housekeeper” or “steward” in Greek, Tethe, “nurse,” and Pater and Meter for “father” and “mother,” are used here in place of proper names.

The Artemis of Ephesus is connected with bees, and beekeeping is a very ancient Mediterranean tradition. In The World History of Beekeeping Eva Crane discusses beekeeping techniques in Sosipatra’s time. These were very similar to the beekeeping techniques of today and included the use of removable frames and smoking bees while working them to keep them docile. Images from Egypt/Kemet show the use of clay tubes like the one in the story. These are still in use in Egypt today.

Eunapius records that Sosipatra’s father left his daughter to the care of two men he had just met. It is difficult to imagine any parent, loving or not, doing so without fuss. Remembering that the girl would have been in the care of the servants and slaves of the estate eases the context of that decision. Whatever their sexual orientation, two men travelling together were clearly bonded to each other rather than to wives and children.

The talent of foresight can be both a gift and a burden. Sosipatra foresaw that her husband would die before her. As Neo-Platonist philosophers, both strove to send their souls into the heavens after death and rise through the moon, sun, and stars, to union with The One. Eunapius says Sosipatra saw that her husband would rise to the moon, and she would surpass him, and achieve the height of the sun.