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by Mary Ann Rossi - credits
from Pagan and Christian Anxiety. A Response to E.R. Dodds , edited by
Robert C. Smith, Trenton State College, and John Lounibos, Dominican College,
University Press of America, Lanham, New York 1985, pp. 53-85; here
re-published with permission of the publisher and author
The
Passio Perpetuae is a diary written by a young mother during her
imprisonment before she was executed by Roman soldiers during the persecution
of Christians in North Africa in 203 A.D. Within the pages of this woman’s
personal testimony may be seen the ease of personal contact with the divine and
the intermingling of pagan and Christian images within the four visions
experienced by Perpetua before her death in the arena. The ingenuous and
intelligent account of the last days of a woman of conviction has afforded
contemporary scholars a rich source for interdisciplinary research on the lives
of women in Late Antiquity.
E. R.
Dodds has observed that new insights into historical problems can develop
without the stimulus of sensational discoveries; all that is required is a
change in the focus of the eye of the scholar (Dodds, 1973: 28). The analysis
of the Passio Perpetuae is particularly receptive to several
perspectives. Focusing on the spiritual background from which both pagan and
Christian beliefs arose, Dodds has employed a “misery and mysticism”
hypothesis in his analysis of the personal experiences of Perpetua and other
individuals who lived in the first three centuries A.D. The diary of Perpetua
has also been analyzed by Marie-Louise von Franz (1951) from another
perspective, with a focus on Jungian interpretation. Franz identifies the
archetypal images of Perpetua’s visions for their subjective content in
their revelation of the young martyr’s inner turmoil. I propose a third
focus for the study of this diary: a feminist focus on the experience of a
woman in a society in which the tension between pagan and Christian beliefs was
intensified by gender polarity. Perpetua’s diary provides us with the
means of assessing her status in a patriarchal society and of perceiving the
inner struggle precipitated by her conversion to Christianity.
Before discussing the text of the Passio Perpetuae, it is
important to understand the sentiment of self-alienation, “displicentia
sui” (Dodds, 1965: 28) that issued from a resentment against the world
engendered among the Gnostics and other sects popular in Perpetua’ time.
In the Gnostic Gospels Elaine Pagels /1/ describes the discovery of the
Nag Hammadi texts in 1945 after they were buried for 1600 years. Denounced as
heretical, they were banned in an intensive campaign that speaks to their
persuasive power. One Gnostic text, “The Thunder, Perfect Mind”,
offers a remarkable poem spoken by a female divine power:
I
am the first and the last. I am the honored one and the scorned one. I am the
whore and the holy one. I am the wife and the virgin . . . . I am the barren
one and many are her sons . . . . I am the silence that is incomprehensible . .
. . I am the utterance of my name (Robinson, J.M., 1977: 271-272).
The
texts include secret gospels and descriptions of the universe, as well as myths
and magic. Most of the writings use Christian terminology related to a Jewish
heritage. The Christians who wrote these texts were called gnostics, from
gnosis, the Greek word for knowledge. Gnosis involves an
intuitive process of knowing oneself. To know oneself at the deepest level is
simultaneously to know God; this is the secret of gnosis .
The
sentiment of alienation is strong in the Christian Gnostics: “Love not the
world nor the things in the world” (Dodds, 1965: 20). They were the alien
elect in their radical dualist explanation of human life as caused by a fall.
There are reflections of Orphic beliefs in such dualism. /2/ These Orphic sects
also stressed the alienation of soul from body and gave rise to ascetic cults
in the ancient world.
This
resentment against the world became a resentment against the ego. The Roman
philosopher Seneca (first century A.D.) describes this dissatisfaction with
oneself, “displicentia sui” in his work On Tranquillity (De
Tranq. 2.10). In this tract the malaise of the time is deftly depicted, and, as
Dodds points out, has a modern ring (1965: 28).
Dodds
regards the Passio Perpetuae as a vivid illustration of the nearness to
God engendered by the “displicentia sui” of the age. She is the
Christian counterpart to the pagan Aelius Aristides, whose personal
relationship to the god of healing, Asclepius, evoked a fervid devotion. Such
intense devotion for the divine is a notably common feature among the pagans
and Christians of Late Antiquity.
The
dreams of Aristides have been amply discussed by Robert C. Smith in the
previous article. It remains for us to examine the extraordinary documentation
of a young mother’s experience during the last days of her life, as she
awaits execution in the arena at the hands of a Roman soldier for the crime of
professing to be a Christian.
The
social standing of Perpetua’s family illustrates the recent research into
the social and economic strata from which the early Christians were drawn. John
G. Gager in Kingdom and Community: The Social World of Early
Christianity, describes the earliest Christian communities, in the light of
recent studies of millenarian movements, as being in a condition of relative
deprivation. This concept sheds light on the drawing power of early
Christianity for people from all walks of life. Although the women and men
drawn to Christianity were innocent of political experience and organization,
their actions had far-reaching political influence, and they were thus cast in
the unwitting roles of enemies of the Roman order. The evidence of early
Christian sources, then, shows that the early Christians were by no means
limited to the poor and ignorant, and that they did not necessarily come from
the lowest social and economic strata (1976: 27-28). Hence Vibia Perpetua, an
educationally and economically privileged young woman, was not an anomaly among
the early Christians.
The
editor of the Passio Perpetuae provides testimony of the author of the
young woman’s diary: “Haec ordinem totum martyrii sui iam hinc ipsa
narravit, sicut conscriptam manu sua et suo sensu reliquit.” “From
here on this woman herself has told the entire account of her own martyrdom,
just as she left it written in her own hand and with her own perception.”
She is described by the editor in these words:
Of
upright birth, liberally educated, married, having a mother, father, and two
brothers, one of whom was also a catechumen, and an infant son at the breast.
And she herself was about twenty-two years of age.
In Latin:
Honeste nata, liberaliter
instituta, matronaliter nupta, habens matrem et patrem et fratres duos, alterum
aeque catachumenum, et filium infantem ad ubera. Erat autem ipsa circiter
annorum viginti duo.
After
the personal account of Perpetua, there follows the vision of Saturus, a fellow
martyr whose visions are recorded in the same text; following is an account of
events in the prison, the martyrs’ death in the amphitheater, and a brief
epilogue. The fact that Perpetua’s account (3-10) and Saturus’
account (11-13) do genuinely come from the hands of Perpetua and Saturus
appears to be confirmed by their style; each section differs markedly both from
the other, and from the rest of the Passio Perpetuae .
Daniélou notes that the language of the Passio Perpetuae
testifies to the adoption of many Greek words by the Christian populace (1978:
62). Fontaine has analyzed the style of the diary and suggests that the calm
and simple tone of the writing recalls Cicero’s Dream of Scipio and
Plato’s Myth of Er at the end of the Republic. He describes the
effect of her style: “Une telle purification, un tel apaisement de l’
imagination et de la sensibilité étonnent dans le récit
que fait de sa vision une condamnée à une mort atroce”
(1968: 89).
The
following passages of the Passio Perpetuae point up the closeness of
Perpetua’s communication with the divine and her confident self-assurance
in her power to communicate. The numbers refer to the chapters and sections in
van Beek’s edition:
Then my brother said to me, “Lady sister, now that you are in high honor,
so much so that you may ask for a vision and it will be shown to you whether
there will be a passion or release.” And I, who knew that I conversed with
the Lord, whose benefits I had experienced, with confidence promised, saying to
him: “Tomorrow I shall report to you.”
In Latin: (IV) Tunc dixit mihi frater meus.
Domina soror, iam in magna dignatione es, tanta ut postules visionem et
ostendatur tibi an passio sit an commeatus. Et ego quae me sciebam fabulari cum
Domino, cuius beneficia tanta experta eram fidenter repromisi ei discens:
Crastina die tibi renuntiabo.
And
I knew immediately that I was worthy and that I must pray in his behalf.
In Latin (VII 2) Et cognovi statim dignam esse et pro eo petere debere.
Then I knew that he had been released from punishment.
In Latin (VIII.4): Tunc intellexi translatum eum esse de poena.
And
I understood that I would fight not against the beasts, but against the devil;
but I knew that the victory would be mine.
In Latin (X.14): Et intellexi me non ad bestias,
sed contra diabolum esse pugnaturam; sed sciebam mihi esse victoriam.
These
passages are construed by Dodds and others as testimony to the accessibility of
the divine to certain people (1965: 47-53).
The
four visions that Perpetua experiences in prison reveal the conflicts of a
young woman torn between her beloved family, including an infant at the breast,
and her longing to be a Christian, an act that had been prohibited by Severus
in order to check the spread of Christianity (cf. Appendix). The visions also
serve to illustrate the interchange and commingling of pagan and Christian
images and symbols, as Perpetua’s pagan upbringing intrudes upon her
awakening Christian consciousness.
The
following summary of the four visions as analyzed by Marie-Louise van Franz /3/
will serve to emphasize the twofold duality of her dreams: i.e.,
pagan/Christian and female/male. The first and fourth visions concern
Perpetua’s impending execution, and the second and third, her younger
brother’s salvation through her intercession.
The
content of the first vision presents a melting pot of psychological images and
symbols reflecting the meeting of pagan and Christian consciousness. The vision
was prompted by her question whether or not she was to suffer martyrdom, and it
contained images that were common to the pagan, gnostic, and Christian worlds
at that time. The “call” for visions was not an uncommon occurrence;
the pagan dreamer Aristides, among others, frequently asks the god Asclepius
for help. In this vision of the Passio Perpetuae , the archetypal image
of the ladder occurs repeatedly. In Genesis 28.12 Jacob’s ladder reached
to heaven. In ancient Egyptian mysteries a stairway with seven gates or seven
steps symbolized the seven planetary spheres through which the soul after death
had to ascend to God. /4/ The ladder, then, has the meaning of a process of
spiritualization by which one is led to an ever higher state of consciousness
by ascending steps.
The
first vision comprises a series of events. Perpetua steps on the head of a
dragon as she mounts a precipitous ladder beset on both sides by dangerous
weapons. After reaching the top she meets a shepherd who is milking a goat and
who gives her a morsel to eat in the presence of many witnesses. Perpetua
construes this vision to mean that she is destined to become a martyr (IV.10).
In Biblical imagery the dragon represents the devil (Isaiah 27.1). But it also
represents the chthonic element “ouroboros” (the
earth-feminine-savior image). Von Franz’s interpretation is remarkable in
this embracing of good and evil in the image of the dragon, since the
archetypal image embraces both and is ubiquitous in the ancient world.
Moreover, Perpetua sees the shepherd as Christ, and the Good Shepherd image is
an excellent example of the crossover of mythic and Christian images in early
Christian art. /5/ Paintings of Greek mythical fiqures such as Orpheus and
Hermes as “Good Shepherds” abound in pagan-Christian art. The
compression of the milking process and giving the “communion” of
cheese-curds is typical of the time collapse in dreams. The milk image reflects
Perpetua’s condition as a lactating mother, who is worried about being
able to nurse her baby. Dodds (51) suggests for this image the analogy of
semen, as in Job X.10, but it seems to me, on the one hand, to be the
androcentric appropriation of a female image, and, on the other, to be the
confusion of a procreative with a nourishing function.
Hence
the Jungian version of the first vision allows us to appraise the inner
struggle that a pagan woman endured upon turning away from her family and home
and embracing a social system that offered great rewards, but at a great price.
In
the second and third visions, Perpetua dreams of her younger brother
Dinocrates, and this dream is used by the Roman Catholic Church as a model for
its doctrine of the intercession of the saints for the souls in purgatory.
/ó/ In fact, Perpetua herself seems to have construed the visions in
this way. In one vision she sees her brother, his face scarred by the cancer
that caused his death, trying to drink from a fountain but unable to reach it.
She then prays for him fervently, and in the next vision she sees him healed,
drinking at the fountain, and then running off to play. Her sense of
communication with the divine is strongly evident in this vision.
The
picture of the underworld is the pagan conception of Hades, and the idea of the
dead suffering from thirst is an ancient and widespread motif in ancient
literature from Homer on (cf., for example, Odyssey XI, and
Virgil’s Aeneid VI). Such a vision reflects Perpetua’s pagan
upbringing and education, and it embodies her accommodation of these symbols of
pagan mythology to her new beliefs. This vision of her brother’s
redemption (reborn “in novam infantiam”) represents a forecast of
Perpetua’s own spiritual development. The child represents her yearning
for the salvation of her soul. Dodds refers to von Franz’s analogy of the
case of Sophie Scholl, a young German political activist executed by the Nazis
in the 1940’s (Dodds, 1965: 52-53; von Franz, 1951: 449). On the night
before she dies, Sophie dreams of climbing a steep hill with a baby in her
arms; she sets the baby on a ledge before she leaps to her doom. On the
subjective level, the child is the self in the process of becoming. In the case
of Sophie Scholl, she construed the child as her political ideal that would
survive her.
The
analogy of Perpetua and Sophie points up the extraordinary quality of
self-assertion and strength that mark the lives of these young women of
disparate times and social mileux. Both have risen beyond expectations for
their sex in their respective societies; /7/ both have insisted on taking
control of their own lives in the service of an ideal; both have become models
of courage and conviction for women of later ages. The second and third visions
are effective illustrations of Perpetua’s inner torment and of the
subliminal commingling of pagan and Christian motifs and symbols. As for
Dinocrates, the restoration and transformation indicate that Perpetua has grown
spiritually and that Christian truth is her source of strength. This growth of
confidence in Perpetua recalls the words of Peter Brown: “Friendship with
God raised the Christians above the identity they shared with their fellows. .
. . The heroism of the martyrs was merely the climax of the inherent sense of
superiority of the Christians as a whole” (1978: 56).
The
fourth vision concerns Perpetua’s imprisonment and triumphant struggle in
the arena with the Egyptian, when she is transformed into a man. In von
Franz’s subjective reading of this vision, imprisonment refers to an inner
situation. Imprisonment under any circumstances implies restricted freedom of
action and isolation from the surrounding world. Prison is often an initial
symbol in the process of individuation in the dreams of modern people (1951:
455). Pomponius, the deacon who guides Perpetua, is like a spiritual leader. As
he directs her over rough paths to the amphitheater, he symbolizes her faith.
He is the psychopomp (“leader of souls”)/8/ on the path of the
unconscious. A pagan symbol, the “Lanista” (trainer of gladiators),
promises Perpetua a bough of the tree of life. The tree is an important and
ubiquitous symbol of life from the tree and pillar cults of the Minoan
civilization on, and trees are also found in the Christian tomb paintings of
the catacombs. The bough recalls the golden bough, a well known pagan symbol
throughout ancient literature. The rough and pathless country indicates
subjectively the stress and distress resulting from the conversion to a
religion different from that of her upbringing. Perpetua is evidently assailed
by doubts and resistance at the thought of her martyrdom. This would seem a
natural state of mind for a young woman of good upbringing and education,
loving of her family and friends, and concerned for their well being, as her
words reveal her to be:
Lately I was tormented for my baby there . . . Concerned about him (the baby),
I was speaking to my mother and comforting my brother, and I entrusted my child
to them. I was languishing on this account, that I had seen that they were
languishing about my well being.
Latin (III 7-9): Novissime macerabar
sollicitudine infantis ibi . . . Sollicita pro eo (filio) adloquebar matrem et
confortabam fratrem, commendabam filium; tabescebam ideo quod illos tabescere
videram mei beneficio.
And
my father’s mishap (being beaten for trying to pull her away) pained me as
if I had been beaten. So did I grieve for his wretched old age.
Latin ( VI): Et doluit mihi casus patris mei,
quasi ego fuissem percussa; sic dolui pro senecta eius misera.
To
resume the analysis of the fourth vision in Jungian terms, the amphitheater is
a mandala, or magic circle, a symbol of the self that embraces the conscious
and unconscious sides of the personality. The amphitheater includes the
opposing sides of the pagan Egyptian and Christian assistants, “Veniunt et
ad me adulescentes decori, adiutores et fautores mei.” “Handsome
young men, my helpers and supporters, came to me” (X.ó-7). There is
a possible allusion to this vision of Perpetua’s in a wall painting of the
late third or fourth century (cf. Appendix). The conscious portion of this
vision is Perpetua herself, and the Lanista holds the value of the self. The
ritual mandala maintains equilibrium; that is, it prevents an outburst and it
prevents intrusion. It also aims to reconcile opposing forces. The Egyptian
stands for the devil, who also symbolizes the central conflict between the
spirit of the earth and paganism. It is clear that Perpetua identifies her
father’s arguments with those of the devil: “Vexavit tantum, et
profectus est victus cum argumentis diaboli.” “He was in a great
rage, and he left, overcome by the arguments of the devil” (III.3). When
her dream substitutes the figure of the Egyptian for that of her father, the
figure symbolizes not only the devil, but her pagan upbringing as it vies with
her Christian awakening. Perpetua is then surrounded by young men who undress
her and massage her with oil in preparation for the contest.
She
is then transformed into a man,which may be construed on several levels. In
acting beyond the expectations of her sex,she takes on the masculine role; she
emulates Christ as many of the Montanist prophetesses did, such as Maximilla.
The
four visions of Perpetua, therefore, reveal the unconscious situation of the
early Christians. But as Perpetua asserted her severance from her pagan world
and affirmed her belief in a world beyond (1951: 496), the visions also show
what difficult battles the believers had to fight within themselves, and how
deep the inner struggle for self-recognition went.
In
the context of Dodds’ hypothesis of misery and mysticism, one may observe
in the Passio Perpetuae an account of a young woman’s contact with
the divine, an example of the drawing power of the early Christian sects, and a
unique example of the mingling of pagan and Christian symbols in dreams, as
they were often commingled in the art of the time (cf. Appendix). Jungian
psychology points up the conflicting and irreconcilable elements of
Perpetua’s pagan upbringing and Christian conversion. Such an
interpretation is not admissible in Dodds’ scheme of bonding and
complementarily. Hence he has made rather restricted use of the testimony of
the Passio Perpetuae : i.e., to illustrate the accessibility of the
divine to certain persons. Dodds also fails to underline the feminine
authorship of the Passio Perpetuae ; he is rather content to laud it in
general terms: “In the prison diary we have an authentic first hand
narrative of the last days of a gallant martyr . . . . It is a touching record
of humanity and courage” (1965: 52).
The
day after her last vision, Perpetua was killed in the arena by the sword of a
Roman soldier after first being trampled by a mad cow. It is fascinating to
contemplate the quality of her choice of martyrdom. Was it an example of the
phenomenon of voluntary martyrdom, the eager longing for and seeking after
execution? According to Nock, voluntary martyrdom was not confined to heretical
and schismatic sects, such as the Montanists, but was more common among the
orthodox than is generally admitted (1963: 21). Clement of Alexandria deplores
these rash acts: “We ourselves blame those who have leapt on death . . .
poor wretches, passionate for death. We say that these people commit suicide
and are not martyrs even if they are officially executed” (Nock, 1933:
198). This popular attitude reflects a fascination with death and the
widespread idea of the body as prison of the soul, very ancient materials, in
Brownian terms, reflecting the duality of the Orphic and Pythagorean sects of
ancient Greece.
For
the Christian, however, there is the special conviction that martyrdom was the
way to life (Nock: 198), as we see in Perpetua’s attitude in the fourth
vision, “I knew that the victory would be mine.” Such behavior was
looked upon as irrational obstinacy by pagans, who viewed such actions as
inhuman and theatrical. Perpetua’s father says, “Depone animos”,
“Put down your high spirits” and “remember your family”;
“pietas”—love and respect of family and household gods were
virtuous attributes among pagan families. He speaks to her, in fact, as if she
were denying her nature and human sensibility. Her visions, however, serve to
reassure her that she has not denied her humanity, but rather affirmed her
integrity as a woman of faith (Pizzolato: 105 ff.).
Perpetua’s action, then, is certainly a willing departure from life, but
this act must not be confused with cutting off a despised life. It is likely
that Perpetua, being well brought up, was versed in classical literature.
Daniélou says that there was no question of children not attending
school (1978: 176). Tertullian testifies to the worth of pagan studies:
“How can we reject profane studies, without which religious studies are
impossible? Without them how build up man’s prudence, teach him to
understand and to act, since literature is something we need all our
lives?” (De Idolatria X.4) Hence Perpetua’s action might have
been inspired by the Stoic precepts in the works of Lucretius, Epictetus, and
Marcus Aurelius. /9/ In particular, the doctrine of “migrare de vita”
(departure from life) was a popular Stoic teaching that one should leave life
when one has had enough, just as a guest at a banquet departs when his appetite
has been satisfied. As to the likelihood of Perpetua’s education, Davies
comments that literate women were no rarity (1980: 101-102 for citations from
Martial, Ovid, and Quintilian). Fontaine also discusses the possibility of her
education, but with more skepticism: “Elle n’a surement pas
reçu une instruction profane aussi poussée qu’un homme”
(1968: 89). He then goes on to say that her charming style belies her lack of
education! This assumption smacks of the historical stereotyping that Brown
warns against. Perhaps a clue to her special education might be found in her
father’s statement that he always preferred her to her brothers (“te
praeposui omnibus fratribus tuis” V.2). It is wise to accept the evidence
of the text. I conclude that a careful reading of the Passio Perpetuae
reveals her to be a woman of intelligence and integrity whose decision to die
for her faith in the face of her love for her family and her life must be
construed as an act of self-affirmation, rather than of self-abnegation.
For a
period when women’s writings and teachings were being banned and excluded
as heretical (e.g., the Gnostic Gospels), any such testimony as the
Passio Perpetuae of women’s active participation in this formative
era is precious and arouses curiosity about the paucity of women writers in
Late Antiquity. Recent scholarship, however, has revealed the possibility of
female authorship of various Apocryphal Acts of this time.
A
recent publication, The Revolt of the Widows, by Stevan L. Davies,
demonstrates that Apocryphal Acts was derived from communities composed of
continent female Christians. As evidence of female authorship, Davies cites the
emphasis on sexual continence and the depiction of women as role models. The
authors of the Acts describe a social world that was egalitarian and
pluralistic; membership in this movement was defined not by gender but by faith
commitment to the Christian community. The fact that women exercised
responsible leadership becomes clear upon examination of apocryphal and
heterodox sources, as well as of canonical and orthodox (1980: 50).
Dodds
states that a great variety of apocryphal acts, gospels, and apocalypses
circulated among the faithful and that orthodoxy was not clearly marked off
from heresy (1965: 104). The Acts of Paul and Thecla, which had a wide
circulation, offers a strong parallel to Perpetua’s story. Davies recounts
Thecla’s story (from Acts of Paul and Thecla 3: 1-43). Thecla is a
well-born virgin engaged to be married when Paul (the Apostle) convinces her to
become a Christian. The violent reaction of her mother to this
decision—she tries to have her put to death—invites a comparison to
Perpetua’s estrangement from her family. Thecla cuts her hair and puts on
a man’s clothing. She endures sexual torments and is about to be drawn
between two bulls (cf. Davies on sexual sadism, 106-107), when her execution is
called off. She converts people to Christianity and baptizes herself. Paul
acknowledges her mission to preach and baptize and sends her home to preach.
Her mother, however, makes it impossible for her to remain, and she lives like
a hermit performing cures, until the district physician hires a gang to rape
her, and she flees into a rock that encloses her, recalling the Greek myth of
Daphne, who is tranformed into a tree when pursued by Apollo.
Various scholars have suggested reasons for the transvestite disguise. /10/
Marie Delcourt finds that the assumption of a disguise symbolizes a rupture
with a former mode of existence made in the service of an ideal androgynous
perfection. She concludes that the theme arose in the ambiance of the earliest
Christian asceticism, influenced as it was by competing gnostic beliefs.
(1956). The disguise furthermore enacts the mystery through which the initiate
“puts on” the body of Christ. “There is neither Jew nor Greek;
there is neither bond nor free; there is neither male nor female, for ye are
all one in Jesus Christ” (Galatians, 3.27-28). Moreover, the Gospel of
Thomas includes the evidence of Jesus telling Mary Magdalene that she will
become male. Perpetua’s transformation into a man in her fourth vision may
have been influenced by these popular beliefs.
The
“Pauline” doctrine of absolute chastity “Otherwise there is no
resurrection for you, except you remain chaste and do not defile the flesh, but
keep it pure,” Acts of Paul and Thecla 3.11, which prompted Thecla to
abandon her fiance likewise caused Perpetua to renounce her family. The
disgrace that her father feels that she has brought upon him is obvious:
“Depone animos; ne universos nos extermines; nemo enim nostrum libere
loquetur, si tu aliquid fueris passa,”"Put down your spirits; don’t
destroy us all utterly; for no one of us will speak freely if you undergo
martyrdom" (V.2; cf. Dodds, 1965: 116).
We
know from St. Augustine how widely read and highly regarded the Acts of Paul
and Thecla were among his contemporaries. He has to warn his listeners not to
put them on a level with canonical scriptures: “Nec scripture ista
canonica est” (De nature et origine animae I.10). Tertullian tried
to suppress the Acts of Paul and Thecla for advocating the right of women to
preach to men.
For
Thecla and Perpetua the male disguise represented union with Christ. It
effected a transformation of self and the birth of a new identity. For Perpetua
the transformation symbolizes her break with the pagan past and her acquisition
of full personhood. Burridge says of a millenarian movement that it is a
special kind of transition process. It is holistic and all-embracing. It
recapitulates the process whereby one sort of person becomes another sort of
person (1975: 166).
Davies presents a concise analysis of the Thecla sequence and supports his
conviction that the text was composed by a woman (1980: 58). The text displays
sensitivity to the problems of a woman in her attempt to lead a Christian life.
Passionate men, backed by a male-dominated civil authority, try to use her
sexually. Christian men, even Paul, do not take her seriously, but regard her
as a beautiful woman prone to temptation despite her status as a confessor.
Davies concludes that the author of this text was someone deeply resentful of
the male sex and highly sensitive to the difficulties of women (60). This
inventive scholar suggests that we might more appropriately apply the term
matristics to this work and other writings of early Christianity.
The
recent works of scholars like Elaine Pagels, Rosemary Ruether, and Stevan
Davies have broken ground by challenging the view that woman-hating was
all-pervasive in Late Antiquity. In fact, the idea of God as female as well as
male was a popular one. The popular reaction to the recent publication of the
Gnostic Gospels is instructive. Elaine Pagels’ book was published
in four consecutive issues of the New York Review of Books in 1979, and
the proliferation of articles, reviews, and protests across the nation call to
mind a Brunonian “shock wave” of sizable proportions. In the
Milwaukee Journal a Jesuit priest admonished readers not to take the
gnostic gospels seriously. Such an apologetic and knee-jerk reaction attests to
the drawing power of these ancient texts. These gnostic gospels abound in
female symbolism that is applied to God. Some texts describe God as a dyadic
being, consisting of both female and male elements, recalling the dyadic
concept of human beings in Plato’s Symposium (190). Instead of the
birth of Eve from Adam’ s side, gnostic sources use Genesis 1:26-27:
“Male and female He created them.”
Some
patristic writings show the influence of gnostic texts. For example, Clement of
Alexandria calls himself orthodox but knows gnostic writings. He shows how
gnostic teachings can be worked into an orthodox pattern. “The Word is
everything to the child, both Father, Mother, Teacher, Nurse. The nutriment is
the milk of the Father, and the Word alone supplies us children with the milk
of love, and only those who suck at this breast are truly happy; . . . to those
infants who seek the Word, the Father’s loving breasts supply milk”
(Cf. Cor. 3:1-3 for Paul claiming to give milk; cf. Gal. 4:20 for Paul claiming
to be in labor/11/).
Indicative of the tensions engendered by male/ female polarity, other
Christians did not follow Clement, but endorsed as canonical the Pseudo-Pauline
letter to Timothy: “Let a woman learn in silence with full submissiveness.
I do not allow any woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; she is
to remain silent, for Adam was formed first, then Eve. The woman was seduced
and came into sin" (Timothy 2:11-14). The woman-hating engendered in these
early texts is reinforced by St. Augustine.
Augustine preached at least three sermons on the feast of Saints Perpetua and
the slave Felicity. He praises the women for acting uncharacteristically for
their sex, in overcoming the inherent weakness and sinfulness of their flesh:
“For there is the crown more glorious, where the sex is weaker. Because
indeed manly spirit produced something greater in women, when under such a
burden feminine fragility was not found wanting” In Latin:
“Nam ibi est corona gloriosior, ubi sexus infirmior. Quia profecto virilis
animus in feminas majus aliquid fecit, quando sub tanto pondere fragilitas
feminea non defecit . . . Ille fecit feminas viriliter et fideliter mori . . .
.” (Serm CCLXXXI, Migne 38 1284)./12/ His highest praise for a woman is to
say that she is like a man. In Augustine the image of God is androcentric. He
assimilates maleness to monism, and this makes femaleness, rather than
bisexuality, the image of the lower corporeal nature.
For
Augustine, moreover, man as image of God is summed up in Adam, the unitary
ancestor of mankind. Woman is not the image, but only when taken together with
the male, who is her head (1 Cor. 11: 3-12). This assimilation of male/female
dualism in patristic theology conditions the definition of woman, both in terms
of her subordination to the male in the order of nature, and her carnality in
the disorder of sin (Ruether, 1974). Hence women are seen ethically as
dangerous to the male. Tertullian’s notorious passage on women as the
“gateway to the devil,” “Tu es diaboli ianua” (De Cultu
Feminarum I.1.2), has provoked indignation among scholars with a feminist
perspective. The spurning of sexuality engendered the rise of continent groups
among the early Christians.
Daniélou states that this “encratist” aspect of
Judaeo-Christianity was not confined to heterodox sects, but expressed a much
more general movement. Paul (1 Cor.) while not making virginity obligatory,
expressed his opinion that virginity is the best condition for men and women
(Cf. Daniélou, 1978 121-123, and Davies, 12-13). Robin Scroggs, a
Pauline scholar, argues that Paul’s reason for counseling people not to
marry is that he wants them to be free of worldly affairs. The demands of
pleasing a spouse leave no time for devotion to the Lord. Paul’s advice to
women not to teach and be over men, by Scroggs’ “hermeneutical
rule,” means that someone is doing it. He is here arguing against groups
that shun sexuality (gnostic groups), while they practice full equality of the
sexes. Gnosticism holds on to equality and rejects sexuality; whereas orthodoxy
holds on to sexuality, but rejects equality. There seems to be an inimical
polarity between sexuality and intellectuality in women for any androcentric
society. /13/
Pagels observes that every one of the secret texts revered by gnostic groups
was omitted from the canonical collection and branded as heretical by those who
called themselves orthodox Christians. By about 200 A.D. virtually all the
female imagery for God had disappeared from the orthodox Christian tradition
(1980: 57). The Christianity of today reflects this deprivation in its
exclusion of the female from the idea of God. It is small wonder that those
arguing against the ordination of women have ample ammunition in ecclesiastical
documentation from which the testimony of women has been painstakingly
excluded. Pagels has touched upon the roots of the male/female polarity that is
a symptom of the malaise of our own times.
The
digression that has led to a new look at modern problems is an example of the
kind of inspiration that the Passio Perpetuae has provided through the
ages. The young martyr Perpetua, whose courage was said to belie her sex /14/
has offered her testimony, which has become the testimony of Everywoman.
To
recapitulate, let us apply Brown’s magnifying glass focus on the pinpoint
of one woman’s life: Perpetua’s words have revealed the kind of
person whose personal contact with the divine generated a charismatic power
that was diffused over the group as a whole. They call up, in Brown’s
words, the “milky way” of martyrs’ tombs that broke out along
the Mediterranean world and testified to the “shocks” that were like
spontaneous combustion, arising from friction within a system of widely shared
ideas (1972: 22-23).
Dodds
has enticed us to reexamine these shared ideas and the preponderant Stoic
backdrop of the world view of Late Antiquity. The Stoic “sympathy of the
whole,” belief that mind is God in each of us, the admonition to live
according to nature, the theistic tendency expressed in Cleanthes’ Hymn
to Zeus and developed in the haunting and yearning passages of Plotinus,
such are the ancient materials of Late Antiquity.
Dodds’ thesis that all this madness issued in a personal alienation is
contested by Peter Brown’s conviction that such inward turning could never
have given rise to the strong monastic communities with their emphasis on
serving and loving each other. Perpetua’s life serves to reconcile this
opposition, since she is alienated at once from her feminine (weak, passive)
social and economic status and from her family, but at the same time she draws
together the faithful and remains their source of strength, even after her
death. Although it is true that martyrdom is the “ultimate form of
discontinuity” (Brown, 1976: 23), nevertheless it is for Perpetua an
assertion of her freedom and a bond of commitment, prestige, and influence that
was capable of reaching beyond the grave to touch the lives of posterity (Cf.
Appendix).
Hence, as Dodds has observed, what we find in a document depends upon what we
are looking for, which in turn reflects our own interests and the intellectual
development of our times (1973: 28). The harmony of pagan-Christian bonding
provided by Dodds’ treatment of the Passio Perpetuae , the lucid
insights of von Franz’s analysis, and the questioning reappraisal of the
feminist approach amply illustrate this disparity of focus and intellectual
temperament.
Nevertheless, the Passio Perpetuae remains a remarkable document
illustrating an intelligent woman’s solution to the “displicentia
sui” of her time. As an illustration of Dodds’ hypothesis of misery
and mysticism, the diary yields psychological insights into Perpetua’s
inner conflicts; as a document of a woman’s experience recounted in her
own words, the diary yields precious testimony of the influential participation
of women in the making of Late Antiquity.
Ball
State University Muncie, Indiana, USA
NOTES
1 The
Gnostic Gospels was published in four installments (Oct. 25, Nov. 8, 22, and
Dec. 6, 1979) by the New York Review of Books, and among the outbreak of
responses across the United States was the following: Milwaukee Journal
(Jan. 20, 1980) “Gnosticism May Be Fascinating, but it’s not a
Substitute for Today’s Christianity” (R. A. Wild, S.J.).
This
article may have been a response to an earlier Journal statement:
“John Paul II denies women in priesthood, insisting there is no tradition
of women in orders. Yet the gnostic gospels show that rituals existed in which
women played the roles of priest and bishop. The gnostics also spoke of God in
feminine terms.” Another response was in Psychology Today (April,
1980) “Religion’s Oldest Scoop” (A. M. Greeley’s review of
Pagels’ Gnostic Gospels).
2.
See collections of Orphic writings in Otto Xern’s Orphicorum
Fragmenta.
3.
Marie-Louise von Franz wrote “Die Passio Perpetuae. Versuch einer
Psychologischen Deutung,” which was first published as Teil II of
Jung’s Aion. Untersuchungen zur Symbolgeschichte in 1951, but Teil
II was curiously omitted from the English translation of Jung’s work.
First translated into English by E. Welsh and published in Spring, 1949:
85-127, it was later published under separate cover by Spring publications with
the title The Passion of Perpetua.
4. H.
Brugsch, Religion und Mythologie der Alten Aegypter, II. Aufl. (Leipzig,
1891), p. 580, cited in Aion (1951), p. 413, n.7.
5.
About twelve statuettes of this sort are known, ranging in provenance from
Spain to Greece, Thrace, and Asia Minor (Morey, 1942).
6.
Doelger, “Antike Parallelen zum leidenden Dinocrate in der Passio
Perpetuae” in Antike u. Christentum Münster, Bd. II 1930,
19, n.40.
7.
Cf. Augustine’s comments on Perpetua and Felicity in his sermons.
8.
The psychopomp, conductor of souls, is a term used in Greek mythology of
Charon, the boatman of the Underworld (Euripides, Alcestis, 361); and of
Hermes (Diodorus Siculus 1.96; Plutarch 2.758b); also Synezius, Insom.
14.
9
Cicero, De Finibus 1.15-49; Marcus Aurelius, Meditations V.29;
Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, III, 94043. A remarkable example of a
contemporary “migrare de vita” was that of Jo Roman, a woman who
wished to control the time of her departure and who did so in 1979
(Time, June 11, 1979).
10.
Cf. Wayne Meeks, “Image of the Androgyne”, History of Religions
13; 165-208 (1974); Marie Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, London Studio
Books (1956); John Anson, “Image of the Transvestite” in
Viator, V (1974). For the latter reference I am indebted to Natalie
Zemon Davis of the History Department at Princeton University.
11. I
am indebted to Stevan Davies for these parallel passages; cf. also Nock, loc.
cit., p. 99, n. 107 for the milk image.
12.
Cf. the translation and discussion of these sermons in Shewring, Perpetua,
Saint and Martyr (1931).
13.
Robin Scrogg’s lecture at Cedar Rapids, Iowa USA, in October, 1979. Also
cf. his work, among others, on Paul’s eschatology in Journal of the
American Academy of Religion 40 (1972) 283ff.
14
This insistence of women’s weakness always calls to mind a memorable line
from Euripides’ Medea: “It is easier to stand in the front
line of battle three times than to bear one child” (11.250-251).
APPENDIX: NOTES ON THE CULTURAL HISTORY OF TIIE PASSIO PERPETUAE
Text
The
Passio Perpetuae dates from Carthage in the Third Century A.D. 203. The
manuscript is preserved in both Latin and Greek: Latin—(sigla are those of
van Beek), A Casiniensis 204 MM, saec. X/XI, D Ambros. C. 210 Inf., saec.
XI/XII; Greek—H Hierosol. S. Sep. 1, saec X, XI. For a full explication of
the ms. tradition, cf. Robinson: 10-15; van Beek: 17-65. The Greek text is
generally considered a translation of the Latin (Robinson: 2-3; Franchi de
Cavalieri. 12 ff.-43 95.; Rupprecht passim; Lazzati, Note, p 30 Fridh:
46 95.) For editions besides those noted in the references (Robinson, Franchi
de’Cavalieri, Musurillo, and van Beek) are von Gebhardt: 61-95 (Latin and
Greek); Kropf-Krugerruhbach: 35-44 (Latin) and Lazzati, Sviluppi: 177-89
(Latin). Other critical studies include Delahaye, Passions: 49-55; E.
Rupprecht, Bemerkungen zur Passio SS. Perpetuae et Felicitatis, in
Rh.M.90, 1941, 177-192; G. Lazzati, ‘Note critiche e testo della Passio
SS. Perpetuae et Felicitatis’, in Aevum 30, 1956: 30-35.
The
Passio contains diverse segments, of which chapters 3-10 comprise a
narration in which Vibia Perpetua, arrested with other catachumens, Revocato,
his slave Felicity, Saturninus, and Secundulus (2.1), recount their experiences
from their standing before the prosecutors, to their incarceration, to their
trial, and finally to their removal to prison to await their execution.
Perpetua also recounts a series of visions that she experiences during her
detention in the prison. The authenticity of Perpetua’s diary as an
historical document seems assured by the most recent philological research (cf.
the conclusions of Fridh, p. 83). The beginning and ending chapters were
compiled by an editor who probably belonged to the circle of Tertullian and
were put together not long after the actual events.
Translations throughout the paper are mine unless otherwise noted.
Language
A
study of the language of the Passio Perpetuae has been done by
Petraglio (1976). His analysis of words such as “caro”
(“flesh”) points up the semantic crossover between pagan and
Christian usages and refIects the “displicentia sui” of the time in
words. “Caro” appears when Perpetua speaks of “sufferentia
carnis” III.5. This expression, which signifies the capacity to resist
materially with the body itself, evidently betrays its origin. It is found in
the Biblical exegesis which comprehends the evangelic word on the infirm flesh
and on the ready spirit in the sense of the Graeco-Roman dualism between matter
and spirit and between soul and body. The word “caro” in the Latin
world not only signifies the body, but also insinuates a disparagement of the
body. The “caro” is infirm or weak (151). Cf. Forcellini, s.v.
“caro”: “Et verbum caro factum est”; Jn. 1.14.
More
than the Latin of the Christians, vulgar Latin, and literary Latin, there exist
certain phenomena that can be qualified as vulgar, literary, or ecclesiastic.
This intermingling of diverse and heterogeneous linguistic elements is not
forced or artificial. In them literary and Christian education are not shut off
from vital matters (153). Petraglio uses the Passio Perpetuae in this
study as exemplary of this semantic and linguistic intermingling of the Pagan
and Christian elements of the Latin.
Art
With
the mention of artistic reflections of the pagan-Christian melding of images,
it is necessary to recall that Septimius Serverus was sole Emperor in 194 A.D.,
when it was believed that the misfortunes of the Empire might be due to this
widespread apostasy, and there was a readiness to believe the strange stories
of sexual excesses and ritual murder which always attach themselves to a sect
that is under the ban of social disapproval (Nock, 208-9). Many times
persecution was forced on the magistrate by the crowds, who cried
“Christiani ad leonem.” Tertullian wrote an Apology, in which he
defended Christians from these attacks. The Christians were a power to be
reckoned with, and Severus was ready to protect them. But he was deterred from
his political plans by the apocalyptic movement, in which the end of the world
was believed to be at hand. At the moment when Severus was reforming the
marriage laws in an effort to strengthen the family, the Christians were
condemning marriage and urging continence. At the moment when the frontiers of
the Roman Empire were threatened and all forces had to be mobilized, the
Christians were urging one another not to serve in the army (Daniélou
and Marrou: 143-4).
Hence
in 202 Severus issued the edict forbidding the Christians to make proselytes.
It was a general order mandating civil servants to check the progress of
Christianity. The prohibited offense was to prepare for baptism or to receive
it, as Perpetua records that she has done: “In ipso spatio paucorum dierum
baptizati sumus; et mihi Spiritus dictavit non aliud petendum ab aqua nisi
sufferentia carnis." III.
The
measures taken against the Christians, however, gave strength to the resistance
of paganism, and artistic remains give testimony of the power of the message.
Hippolytus’ commentary on Daniel in 207 A.D., in which he describes types
of deliverance, such as that of the three men in the fiery furnace, is
paralleled by the decorations of the Roman catacombs of this period. There is,
for example, an allusion to this commentary, as well as a possible allusion to
Perpetua’s final vision, in a wall painting from the Roman Catacomb on the
Via Latina of the late third or fourth century. The painting depicts three men
in the flames with arms upraised in an attitude of triumph and dressed in
rather elaborate dresses, which remained an enigma to many for a long time.
With the realization that the tomb belonged to Christians who were steeped in
the pagan tradition, and with the testimony of other paintings in the same
tomb, including some of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory, it is likely that
this very costume of Nike was used to depict victory beyond the grave. This
conclusion accords with their attitude of triumph. The allusion to the
Passio Perpetuae is X.6-7, ‘Handsome men, my helpers and
supporters, come to me." In the painting, as in the diary, martyrdom is seen as
a struggle against the devil, and derivatively the relation of the church and
world is understood as one of conflict (Daniélou: Plate 11, p. 26).
There
is another painting that appears to allude to the Passio Perpetuae in
the cemetery of Priscilla and Domitilla. This painting is discussed by A. Amore
in “Note di topomastica cimiteriali romana,” Riv. Arch. Crist.
32 (l956) 59-87.
Fontaine ends his study of the diary with the mention of its influence in early
Christian funerary painting, such as the one on a paleochristian sarcophagus in
northern Spain, described in Madrider Mitteilungen (1965: 139-166) and
also in a note by Fontaine in Bulletin Hispanique 69 (1967: 556),
“Quatre ans d’archeologic hispanique a l‘inst. arch. allemand de
Madrid.” The sarcophagus of Quintana de Bureba, which Fontaine calls
“la plus belle pièce de ce groupe” depicts the scene of
Perpetua about to climb the ladder of her first vision as she steps on the head
of the serpent. The Good Shepherd is also depicted.
It is
a charming painting, and its theme indicates the wide popularity of the
Passio Perpetuae in the period of early Christianity.
Interdisciplinary
The
text of the Passio Perpetuae was selected for a joint research effort
by literary scholars and psychoanalysts, and one of the publications resulting
from this interdisciplinary approach is entitled “The Motivations for St.
Perpetua’s Martyrdom.” In this paper Mary Lefkowitz, Professor of
Greek and Latin, presents evidence in the text that provokes new kinds of
questions from a feminist perspective. The psycho-historical perspective
reveals that the reasons why Perpetua was willing to give up both her life and
her infant son in the service of her faith were political and emotional, as
well as doctrinal (1976: 417-421). Lefkowitz contends that the demands of an
intense relationship with her father, who tries three times to force her to
recant so that he will not be disgraced, and who uses violent and aggressive
gestures against her, may indicate a conscious or unconscious incestuous
relationship.
Tertullian
Tertullian defended Christians against the charge that they were bad citizens
and refuted the allegation of immoral rites. He composed works for the
Christian public, including the tractate Ad martyras, addressed to
certain Christians who had been arrested and were awaiting trial and consequent
execution during one of the many outbreaks of persecution. It is possible that
Tertullian is thinking especially of Perpetua and Felicity in this work. For
differing views of this point, cf. Schanz-Hosius-Kruger, iii, 283; also cf. J.
Klein, “Tertullians Theologisch Ethick des Martyrium als Commentar zur
Passio Perpetuae” (275-313) Hildesheim: 1940, repr.1975. Tertullian was
long thought to be the editor of the the Passio Perpetuae (see
attestations in DACL, e g.), but recent scholars do not agree
(Fontaine,e.g.). Nevertheless Tertullian’s works are reputed to be the
mediator between Christian fervor and pagan learning, and he is close to the
spirit of the Passio Perpetuae , whether or not he actually edited the
text.
Stoicism
In a
recent article in Vigiliae Christianae Pizzolato defends the humanity of
the Passio Perpetuae by emphasizing Perpetua’s Stoic mental set,
her fervent belief that she is in the hands of God and that He is willing her
every action. Her words in V.6 illustrate this state of mind: “There will
happen on that platform what God will have willed; for know that we are
constituted to be not in our power, but in that of God.” In Latin:
“Hoc fiet in illa catasta quod Deus voluerit; scito enim nos non in nostra
esse potestate constitutos; sed in Dei.” Pizzolato adds: “Con questa
affermazione Perpetua viene a correggere la sua dimensione eroica, legando la
sua situazione non ad una scelta della propria volontà, ma di una
volontà superiore” (1980). The author illustrates Perpetua’s
beliefs that God wills her actions by citing such passages as her father’s
refusal to give back her baby (“Pater noluit,” VI.8), but the baby
did not wish to nurse, and her breasts did not cause her distress (“Deus
voluit” VI.8). Perpetua’s expression of ready and willing conformity
to God’s will recalls the early Stoic Hymn to Zeus of Cleanthes,
disciple of Zeno, founder of the Stoic sect in the third century B.C. (fr. 527,
von Arnim):
Lead me, O Zeus, and Thou, O Destiny; Whithersoever I am appointed by you,
There shall I follow resolute; But if, being base, I lag and will not, Follow
still I must.
Seneca, an exponent of Roman Stoicism in the first century A.D., has given in
Letter 107 (Summers, 1970) Cicero’s translation of Cleanthes’ Hymn:
duc, o parens celsique dominator poli, quocumque placuit: nulla parendi mora
est. adsum impiger. fac nolle: comitabor gemes malusque patiar facere quod
licuit bono. ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt.
The
last line (“Destiny leads the willing, and drags the reluctant”) is a
Stoic precept embraced by Perpetua.
The ‘perpetual’ spark
It
remains to mention three poems of disparate times by women or unknown poets who
were inspired by Perpetua’s life and writing. The poems give testimony of
the charismatic quality of her experience.
The
contemporary poet H.D. has embraced the spirit of the Passio Perpetuae
in many of her haunting poems. The following lines are from Hermetic
Definition:
. .
. if I can do nothing else, at least, I can recognize this unfathomable,
dauntless separation,
this retreat from the world that yet holds the
world, past, present, in the mind’s closed recess . . . (Grove of
Academe)
A
dramatic poem of the nineteenth century is a version of the Passio
Perpetuae and reflects the Stoic tenet that mind is God in each of us. The
following lines are spoken by Perpetua:
The temples of the living Lord are ye,
His kingdom is within
you. Thus for me,
From that time forth, did every human form
Stand for a living shrine of Deity. (Adams, 1841)
Finally, there is a lyric poem of the ninth century inspired by the Passio
Perpetuae . The Latin poem was arranged to be sung on the feasts of holy
women, and the last six verses in particular are striking in their reminiscence
of Perpetua:
Now
you can see women made captains in the war that is waged against you.
Women who spur on their sons bravely to conquer all your tortures.
Even
courtesans, your vessels, are purified by God,
Transmuted into a burnished
temple for him alone.
For these graces let us now glorify him together,
both the sinners and those who are just,
Him who strengthens those who stand
and gives his right hand to the fallen that at least after crimes we may rise.
(Dronke: 42-44)
In Latin:
15. Feminas nunc vices
in bello contra te facto duces existere,
16. Quae filios suos
instigant fortiter tua tormenta vincere.
17. Quin et tua vasa
meretrices dominus emundat
18 Et haec sibi templum dignatur
efficere purgatum.
19 Pro his nunc beneficiis in commune dominum
nos glorificemus et peccatores et iusti,
20. Qui et stantes
corroborat et prolapsis dexterma porrigit, ut saltem post facinor surgamus.
(Notker, 1960).
For a discussion of the imagery of the poem, cf. Dronke, pp. 42-44. The
references in the poem to married women and widows gives new meaning to all
that goes before, since previously only virgin martyrs, apart from Mary, had
been celebrated in song:
Now, Notker seems to say, not only the martyr heroines, but women in all
their womanly capacities can triumph in that encounter and ordeal by which the
divine is attained . . . . Every woman’s life can become a vindication of
Eve, a bruising of the serpent’s head; even the lives of courtesans . . .
. for Christ did not reject them . . . Perpetua’s dreams become an image
of every Christian’s anguish and aspiration, as the concluding lines
implicitly take up the opening image once more. Those who stand and fall are
helped up again -- they are whoever dares to climb the ladder stretching to
heaven: the Perpetuas of this world [or Everywoman] (Dronke: 1968: 43).
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