#orphism

Misè en scene: an unusual Orphic Hymn

Given what I said about Mise in the lede, it’s only right to start with a recent translation of the hymn dedicated to this deity (Daniel Malamis, The Orphic Hymns: Poetry and Genre, with a Critical Text and Translation, p. 73):

The most discussed lines are these dealing with Mise's identification with Dionysus, and the characterization of this deity as “two-sexed” (διφυῆ). Daniel Malamis argues this reflects a characteristic of Dionysus, as opposed to Mise, since portraying him as androgynous has multiple parallels (for instance in John Lydus’ De Mensibus). Meanwhile, the only other sources providing any information about Mise’s gender indicate she was viewed unambiguously as a feminine figure (The Orphic Hymns…, p. 300). 

However, it’s important to note androgyny might also be an innate characteristic of Mise independent from Dionysus, even if she was a goddess first and foremost. The closest parallel would be descriptions of androgynous Selene from the magical papyri (Anne-France Morand, Études sur les Hymnes Orphiques, p. 171). Note that this would only be a parallel case of a primarily feminine figure being sometimes regarded as androgynous, not an indication Mise had anything to do with Selene in a more direct way. Israel Muñoz Gallarte refers to Mise as “daughter of Selene” in his brief discussion of the hymn (Plutarch’s Image of the Androgynous Moon in Context, p. 177) -  though as Selene is nowhere to be found in it and I failed to find any other publications suggesting such a relation between them I’d assume this is a mistake.

The hymn portrays Mise as somewhat of a globetrotter, asserting she can be found in Eleusis, Phrygia, Cyprus and Egypt. This sort of catalogue of cult centers is typical for the genre, and in the Orphic Hymns can be found in these dedicated to Aphrodite, Hipta, Adonis and Apollo (The Orphic Hymns…, p. 260). It has been proposed that those aren’t actually places in which Mise was actively worshiped, though. Instead, an identification with unspecified deities to be found in each of them might be implied (The Orphic Hymns…, p. 267).

Radcliffe G. Edmonds instead argues that even though only the association between Isis and Mise is explicit, a different goddess is supposed to be her mother in each of the locations listed - so Demeter in Eleusis, Meter in Phrygia, and Cythera (Aphrodite) on Cyprus (Orphic Mythology in A Companion to Greek Mythology, p. 85). The fact that Egypt is both the last of the locations listed, and receives the longest description, is most likely significant, though (Études sur…, p. 171-172). It has been suggested that specifying Mise’s parentage was meant to make it clear that despite being, in a way, Dionysus, this deity is not quite the same as other Dionysuses in the Orphic Hymns. In other hymns Persephone and Semele are referred to as Dionysus’ mothers (Études sur…, p. 154). A plurality of Dionysuses, with distinct genealogies and characteristics, is in line with other Orphic texts; it wouldn’t be unique to the Orphic Hymns (Études sur…, p. 158).

It has also been proposed that Isis’ association Demeter - to which I’ll return later -  might in turn be responsible for her role as Mise’s mother (Études sur…, p. 170). While Edmonds’ proposal is speculative, it’s distinctly possible that Mise indeed had something to do with Demeter. The placement of her hymn in particular might indicate the compilers considered her a part of a grouping of deities associated with Eleusinian mysteries, alongside Demeter, Meter Antaia (in this context - Demeter during the search for Kore) and the Horai (here characterized as Persephone’s companions). This possible grouping in turn is placed among sequences of deities associated with other mysteries: Orphic, Samothracian (“korybantic”) and Bacchic (The Orphic Hymns…, p. 212).

Another hint that Mise was associated with Demeter comes from the tiny corpus of dedicatory inscriptions addressed to her. Only two are known. Bot =h have been identified on fragments of altars which originally stood somewhere in Pergamon or its immediate vicinity (which makes it sensible to assume that Mise was a local deity from this area). While one of the inscriptions is simply Mise’s name alone, which is not informative beyond confirming she was actively worshiped, the other refers to her as “Mise-Kore” and is accompanied by ears of grain, possibly reflecting an association with Demeter (Études sur…, p. 173-174). I think some caution is necessary, though - Kore is ultimately a relatively generic byname. In Sardis, it seemingly designated a local form of Artemis (George Petzl, Sardis: Greek and Latin Inscriptions. Part II: Finds from 1958 to 2017, p. 244). On the other hand, it wasn’t necessarily the default euphemistic name of Persephone in every location. Dedications from across northern Greece indicate that names designating her as a single child (Μουνογόνη, Μωνογενίη) or Nymphe, “bride”, could be preferred (Robert Parker, Greek Gods Abroad. Names, Natures, and Transformations, p. 6).

While the altar is, as far as I’m aware, the most explicit piece of evidence, a number of vaguely similarly named  figures from various versions of the myth of Demeter and Persephone are sometimes assumed to be identical with Mise. Valerius Harpocration mentions that Asclepiades of Tragilus documented a tradition in which Nise - possibly a typo, with Mise actually meant - was a daughter of Dysaules, a hero associated with Eleusis, and Baubo. Antoninus Liberalis’ Misme, who offers Demeter water during her wanderings, might be another example (Études sur…, p. 172-173).

The other attestations of Mise are not very informative, sadly. The oldest one can be found in one of the mimes of the third century BCE writer Herodas, which refers to the celebration of her kathodos (“descent”). This was most likely an actual festival, rather than a literary creation. However, the location where it took place is left unspecified (Études sur…, p. 172). Hesychius included Mise in his lexicon, in which he states she was a deity associated with Mater and that she could be invoked in oaths (Études sur…, p. 173). Edmonds also argues that a separate entry from the same source which refers to misētai women using dildos (μισηταὶ δὲ γυναῖκες ὀλίσβοισιν χρήσονται; a quote from the comic Crates) is a possible indication that Mise had something to do with female desire, presumably under the assumption her name is etymologically related (Orphic Mythology, p. 100-101). To return to Isis, ultimately the assumption that she might have taken over Demeter’s role with regards to Mise is not baseless; though I don’t think anything particularly strongly points to them being mother and daughter, rather than just two goddesses from the same circle. It’s not the only possible explanation. Making Isis and Mise mother and daughter might have simply reflected the phonetic similarity between their names (Études sur…, p. 170). It’s also important to note that making Isis a relative of one Greek deity or another is not without parallel. A hymn from Kyme calls her the oldest daughter of Kronos; Plutarch alludes to traditions making her a daughter or granddaughter of Hermes, or casting Prometheus as her father (Lindsey A. Mazurek, Isis in a Global Empire. Greek Identity Through Egyptian Religion in Roman Greece, p. 115). How is this possible? To explain, a short history of Isis’ spread across the Mediterranean will be necessary.

Isis’ travels: Greece, Rome and beyond

Greeks settling in Egypt came to be exposed to Egyptian deities as early as in the seventh century BCE, but it’s not clear when they first encountered Isis (Martin Bommas, Isis, Osiris and Sarapis in The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt, p. 422). Figurines representing her, also dated to the seventh century BCE, have been found during excavations in the temple of Athena in Kameiros on Rhodes, but it seems her cult for the most part only began to spread to Greece in the Hellenistic period (Isis, Osiris…, p. 427-428). Alexandria in the fourth century BCE was the starting point for its transmission (Isis, Osiris…, p. 422). The first dateable reference comes from Piraeus from 333 BCE (Sarolta A. Takács, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World, p. 29). It’s likely that Isis was transmitted across maritime trade routes, with the first devotees in Greece being sailors hailing from Egypt. Some of them started constructing sanctuaries in Greek cities - possibly originally to create meeting spots for Egyptians temporarily or permanently living there. With time others started frequenting them as well, though; and they in turn also spread the cult further. For instance, it’s well documented that people from Delos settling in Amphipolis, Chios, Eretria, Gortyna, Thessaloniki and Tinos introduced Isis to these cities (Isis in…, p. 53-54). The spread of Isis continued through the second century BCE. Her cult moved beyond Greece, reaching Puteoli, Miseno and Ostia in Italy, once again across maritime routes. By the first century BCE she also came to be worshiped in Pompeii and Rome, with a temple being constructed for her at Capitoline Hill (Isis, Osiris…, p. 428-429). It seems that a few times the senate attempted to curtail her rise to prominence, though the references are infrequent and largely limited to considerably later literary texts (Isis and…, p. 56-57). After the end of the republican period the emperors Augustus, Agrippa and Tiberius unsuccessfully attempted to intervene against Isis’ spread due to general animosity towards Egypt. However, starting with Caligula and Nero, Roman rulers embraced her cult (Isis and…, p. 127). She became too firmly integrated into Roman religion to be singled out as suspect (Isis and…, p. 204). Contrary to assumptions in early scholarship, there’s no strong reason to suspect that origin in the east correlated in interest in Isis at this point in time (Isis and…, p. 164). The evidence also doesn’t support the assumption that only people from lower social classes ever became devotees of her (Isis and…, p. 168). Isis actually came to be integrated into the Roman pantheon so firmly that in the province of Noricum (the eastern part of the Alps, roughly) she served as the interpretatio romana of a local goddess, Noreia (Isis and…, p. 152-153). It seems that this association was accepted both by Roman officials stationed there and the native populace (Isis and…, p. 155).

Ruins of the red basilica in 2012 (wikimedia commons). The popularity of Isis peaked around the first and second centuries CE (Isis in…, p. 6). Sanctuaries dedicated to her existed virtually in every major city in Greece and in many areas influenced by Greek culture (Isis in…, p. 2). A particularly notable one, the “red basilica”, was constructed for her in Pergamon; it was one of the largest temples dedicated to an Egyptian deity outside Egypt, next to the Iseum Campense in Rome (Isis, Osiris…, p. 430). It has been argued the orphic hymn to Mise, and the collection it belongs to as a whole, must predate its construction. Given that the hymns were likely compiled in the proximity of Pergamon, it would be quite bizarre for Isis not to be mentioned anywhere else in them otherwise (The Orphic Hymns…, p. 173). 

Inscriptions indicate that in the same period Isis came to be worshiped even in distant Roman provinces like Germania Superior. One of the most remarkable ones, courtesy of a certain Annusius Magianus (yes, this cognomen likely means exactly what you think it does), documents the construction of a temple dedicated to her in Aquae Helvetiorum, modern Baden in Switzerland (Isis and…, p. 132-134).

Very little evidence for the worship of Isis outside Egypt comes from the third century CE or later. Her cult seemingly lost its mass appeal by then (Isis in…, p. 191). Christian polemics very rarely allude to her; if she does appear, it’s virtually always alongside numerous other Greco-Roman deities, or in general criticisms of Egyptian culture borrowed from earlier authors like Juvenal. She never figures as the adversary par excellence. Attempts have been made to prove that she and Magna Mater were seen as the foremost “rivals” of the church, but the primary sources don’t support this assumption (Isis and…, p. 122-123). In contrast with Rome’s own Cybele derivative, Attis or Mithras, devotees of Isis also were not prominent among the anti-christian senators attempting to bring forth a pagan revival, either. For all of her earlier importance, Isis wasn’t all that central of a figure anymore when christianity cemented its status across the Roman Empire in the fourth century CE (Isis and…, p. 129).

Isis and Egypt in Greco-Roman art

Across the period briefly discussed above, hailing from Egypt was seen as a fundamental aspect of Isis’ character. However, this doesn’t mean she was an exact copy of Isis as the average Egyptian at any specific point in history would understand her. Rather, she was a goddess embodying the Greco-Roman ideas about this area (Isis in…, p. 61). She essentially came to be a goddess from an imaginary version of Egypt (Isis in…, p. 26).  It’s important to note that even by the Hellenistic period, few were able to actually travel from Greece to Egypt, or the other way round (Isis in…, p. 69). A certain fascination with Egypt is evident in sources from the classical period already, especially in Athens, though. Authors such as Herodotus and Isostrates thought of it as a source of mystic wisdom, and highlighted its numerous natural wonders (Herodotus in his typical fashion also made sure to dedicate a lot of space to chastising Egyptians as morally inferior and incomprehensible, though). A later reflection of this idealized image of Egypt can be found in the works of Diodorus. He favorably described Egyptian courts in particular, comparing them with Athenian and Spartan institutions. Especially from the Flavian period on, similar sentiments were relatively common in latin literature too (Isis in…, p. 61-65).

Needless to say, even the authors with a firmly positive view of Egypt weren’t exactly historically accurate. Diodorus, for instance, presents the pharaoh Sesostris (Senusret) as the conqueror of Arabia, Libya, Ethiopia, India, “all Asia” up to Scythia in the north, the Aegean islands and Thrace, where he had to stop because his soldiers got too tired. The story is obviously false; crossing the Orontes was about as far as any pharaoh managed. However, this is still fairly informative in its own way - it’s safe to assume that the point of reference were legends circulating among Egyptians in the late first millennium BCE. For instance, it is well known that by the fourth century BCE or so Ramses II was credited with conquering numerous distant lands, largely overlapping with Sesostris’ conquests mentioned by Diodorus, though instead of India Bactria was typically held to be the most distant of them. Envoys from “Bakhtan” appear in a late narrative featuring him known from the Bentresh stele from the temple of Khonsu in Thebes (Philip A. Harland, “Syrians call you Astarte… Lycian peoples call you Leto”: Ethnic Relations and Circulating Legends in the Villages of Egypt, p. 370-371).

A Nilotic scene from Pompeii (wikimedia commons). Another good indication of how Egypt was perceived are so-called “Nilotic scenes”. They depict it as a land filled with animals, especially crocodiles, hippos and cranes, puzzling short entities sometimes battling the animals, and temples. While some of the motifs are likely to be derived from Egyptian art, they ultimately reflect foreign perception of the Nile and Egypt as a whole (Isis in…, p. 65-66).

A statue of Isis from Marathon (wikimedia commons).

As for Isis, she was depicted in Greece much in the same way as regular Greek deities. However, individual elements of her Egyptian iconography were preserved, chiefly her attributes like a crown with horns and solar disc (basileion). On top of that, her hair was fairly unique: usually it’s separated into distinctive locks (Isis in…, p. 88). She could be depicted holding a sistrum and a situla, a vessel used for ritual libations (Isis in…, p. 97). A further unique feature was her distinctive mantle with a knot over the chest. While it might look similar to standard Greek clothes to a modern viewer, in antiquity it was unusual enough to mark Isis as a foreign deity even if everything else she wore was drawn from the same wardrobe as outfits of Greek goddesses. It might represent an attempt at replicating Egyptian clothing. Not all depictions of Isis include this element, though. Especially in Roman colonies or settlements with a substantial number of Roman immigrants, she could be portrayed in entirely standard Greco-Roman clothing (Isis in…, p. 96-98).

Isis-Sothis on a Cypriot dish (Metropolitan Museum of Art). A novel iconographic development was Isis-Sothis - Isis depicted in the company, or sometimes on the back, of a dog representing the star Sothis (Sirius). The oldest example dates to the reign of Caligula It comes from a temple of Isis located at the Campus Martius in Rome. This new form of Isis reached Egypt during Trajan’s reign, in the early second century CE, when it started to appear on coins minted in Alexandria. The association itself wasn’t new - Sopdet, which came to be known as Sothis in Greek, is already linked with Isis in the Pyramid Texts which date all the way back to the Old Kingdom (Majorie S. Venit, Referencing Isis In Tombs Of Graeco-Roman Egypt: Tradition And Innovation, p. 101). At least in late periods this astral role of Isis was in part viewed as an extension of Osiris’ association with Orion, which is visible next to Sirius in the sky. This interpretation is made explicit by a Ptolemaic text which has Isis explain that “Orion in heaven rises and sets every day; I am Sothis following after him, and I will not forsake him” (Isis and…, p. 106).

A Cycladic votive relief of Isis Pelagia (wikimedia commons). Isis-Sothis was neither the only new form of Isis, nor the most famous one. That was arguably Isis Pelagia - standing on the prow of a ship, holding its sail in her hands (Laurent Bricault, Isis Pelagia: Images, Names and Cults of a Goddess of the Seas, p. 11). The latter detail is effectively another unique attribute of hers (Isis Pelagia…, p. 110).

This image reflected the reinterpretation of Isis as a marine deity. This is quite unexpected, as Egyptians strictly speaking had no deity firmly considered responsible for the sea (the rare references to imported Yam notwithstanding). A secondary association with sailing is attested at an early date only for Hathor, seemingly in tandem with her well documented link to Byblos. She could be portrayed as the pilot or helms(wo)man of the solar barge, too. From the New Kingdom onward, Amun came to be linked to sailing as well due to his association with winds. A few other gods - for example Khnum - seemingly only developed similar roles in the Ptolemaic or Roman period (Isis Pelagia…, p. 12-15).

It’s possible that Isis at first borrowed her association with sailing from Hathor, since she at some point came to appear in the same roles as her in depictions of the solar barge. However, there’s no evidence for a more tangible maritime role for her prior to the Greek takeover. The Nile, sure; same goes for mythical bodies of water like Nun. But that’s about it (Isis Pelagia…, p. 15-18).

For the most part Isis only became a goddess of sailing in the third century BCE, in the aftermath of Arsinoe II’s reign. The latter was deified and at least partially identified with Isis; in life, she was responsible for the naval development of the Ptolemaic state. Presumably this brought the vague link between Isis and sailing to the forefront (Isis Pelagia…, p. 27-42). Over the course of the next few centuries both in Egypt and beyond she became the goddess of sailing par excellence, and could be hailed as its inventor. The construction of the first sail in particular could be singled out as her accomplishment (Isis Pelagia…, p. 47-48).

It should be noted that depicting Isis similarly to Greco-Roman goddesses didn’t constitute a denial of her Egyptian origins (Isis in…, p. 101). Cults of Isis - and other Egyptian deities, for that matter - aimed to present themselves as legitimate derivatives of Egyptian practice (Isis in…, p. 69). For instance, a legend from Delos states that Isis was introduced there from Memphis by a certain Apollonios. It’s emphasized that the priest who has this account written down - also named Apollonios - was his descendant, and that his position was hereditary. This reflected Egyptian, not Greek, tradition - most priestly roles in Greece were not meant to be inherited (Isis in…, p. 67). Hereditary priesthoods of Isis are also attested elsewhere in Greece, but curiously this institution is virtually unknown further west. The only possible exception is Poetovio (modern Ptuj in Slovenia) in the Roman province of Pannonia Superior (Isis and…, p. 167).

The personification of Egypt on a mosaic from El Djem (wikimedia commons). Interestingly, Isis’ new iconography in turn influenced the depictions of personifications of Egypt. On a mosaic from Thysdrus in Africa Proconsularis (modern El Djem in Tunisia), Egypt, one of the six personified provinces accompanying Roma, holds Isis’ attribute, the sistrum; has similar hairdo to her; and wears her distinctive knotted mantle. It’s essentially as if Isis herself was the most archetypal Egyptian (Isis in…, p. 1).

Osiris, Serapis and others

A possible depiction of Osiris from Marathon (wikimedia commons; identification via Isis in…, p. 171-172). Surprisingly, while Greeks were familiar with Osiris, he didn’t play a large role in the cult of Isis across the Greek-speaking world (Isis, Osiris…, p. 425). That doesn’t mean he wasn’t worshiped at all, though - evidence is available from Delos, Gomphoi, Thessaloniki and possibly Marathon (Isis in…, p. 172). Additionally, in Athens Isis was worshiped under the title Taposiris, referring to the mourning the death of Osiris (Isis Pelagia…, p. 147). The reference to Isis’ black clothes in the hymn to Mise might reflect the assumption she was depicted mourning Osiris, too (Études sur…, p. 170). Plutarch famously mentions that both Isis and her priests wore black robes and speculates that this was a reflection of perpetual mourning (Ljuba M. Bortolani, Magical Hymns from Roman Egypt: A Study of Greek and Egyptian Traditions of Divinity, p. 290).

The pyramid of Gaius Cestius, the only surviving Roman pyramid (wikimedia commons). Romans showed comparatively more enthusiasm towards Osiris, though his presence in Roman religion remains understudied - despite leading even to constructions of imitation pyramids at the peak of his popularity. It’s possible it was less Osiris himself and more the connection between him and Dionysus that captured Roman imagination, though. Textual sources stress his association with joy and abundance and credit him with the creation of wine, which might support this assumption. In contrast, there was little interest in his role as the ruler of the underworld (Isis, Osiris…, p. 431-432). He typically wasn’t even depicted as a mummy or inside a sarcophagus (Isis in…, p. 172). To be fair, outside Egypt Isis’ association with funerary rites was generally glossed over too (Imagining Isis…, p. 181-182).

A statue of enthroned Serapis accompanied by Cerberus (wikimedia commons) The deity Isis was most closely associated with outside Egypt was not Osiris, but rather Serapis (Isis in…, p. 67). His name was likely derived from the phrase ser Apis, “foretelling Apis”, presumably referring to the oracular Osiris-Apis of Memphis (Isis, Osiris…, p. 422). It has been argued that he was effectively a name Greek used to refer to an Egyptian phenomenon - the fusion of Osiris and Apis. However, Egyptians seemingly perceived him as a Greek take of Osiris. The fact that he was depicted in a firmly Greek style, with his iconography patterned after either Zeus or Hades (complete with Cerberus), surely didn’t help with shaking off that feeling (Magical Hymns…, p. 8-9). Despite the similarities in iconography between Serapis and Hades, Plutarch’s account of Ptolemy I Soter importing a statue of Pluto (ie. Hades) from Sinope after seeing it in a prophetic dream and subsequently having it recognized as Sarapis, supposedly the god’s Egyptian name, by two experts, Timotheus the Eleusinian and Manetho of Sebennytos, is fictional. It’s unclear why Sinope figures in it, as this city had nothing to do with Egypt, nor was it associated with Hades (Françoise Dunand, Christiane Zivie-Coche, Gods and Men in Egypt. 3000 BCE to 395 CE, p. 214-215).

Regardless of his origins, by the end of the Ptolemaic period Sarapis already functioned as a distinct deity (Isis in…, p. 67). He was the main god of Alexandria, and the tutelary god of the Ptolemaic dynasty (Isis and…, p. 28). His most distinctive attribute - often the only attribute making it possible to distinguish him from other bearded Greek gods - was his headwear, which was derived from a kalathos - a grain-measuring cup (Isis in…, p. 90). This likely reflected his association with grain, which in turn at least in part came from Alexandria’s key role in the shipment of Egyptian wheat to Rome (Isis Pelagia…, p. 243-244). Sporadically Serapis was depicted wearing Osiris’ atef crown instead of his own kalathos (Gods and…, p. 216). The atef might actually have been his oldest headwear (Isis Pelagia…, p. 243). His character also resembled Osiris to a considerable degree - he retained both his agricultural and underworld functions, though it’s unclear if the latter had much to do with his popularity. He also prominently played the role of a divine healer. While in theory so could Osiris - most if not all Egyptian gods could be invoked for healing purposes - it was not a major aspect of his character in the same way as it was for Serapis (Gods and…, p. 217-218). However, he never fully overshadowed his forerunner in Egypt (Isis and…, p. 28).

A stela with serpentine depictions of Serapis and Isis (wikimedia commons). Somewhat unexpectedly, given the role Apis had in his development, Serapis was never depicted in fully or at least partially bovine form. He was almost exclusively portrayed anthropomorphically, with the exception of a small number of unusual Roman works of art in which he has the form of a snake with a bearded human head. These reflect his role as agathos daimon - a guarantor of good harvest. However, none of the serpentine images appear to come from cultic contexts (Gods and…, p. 217).

Two statues of Harpocrates (wikimedia commons). Isis and Serapis were often worshiped in a triad alongside Harpocrates, a god directly derived from the child form of Horus. This might reflect the Egyptian penchant for triads (Isis in…, p. 112). At least on the level of iconography, Harpocrates shows similarities to pudgy, childlike and sometimes winged Eros, with the only Egyptian element being a characteristic gesture of touching the lips (Isis in…, p. 117). However, the connection should not be overestimated. Harpocrates was a deity with a considerably more varied sphere of influence than Eros. For example, an aretalogy from Chalkis credits him with the invention of music, and praises him as a god responsible for determining the seasons. He also enjoyed great prominence in the sphere of cult. It’s likely Eros’ iconography was borrowed for Harpocrates simply because the former was the child deity par excellence, while the latter was worshiped alongside Isis and Serapis as their child. This in turn was meant to emphasize their role as the exemplary spouses and parents (Isis in…, p. 112-113).  In contrast with the distinctly anthropomorphic Harpocrates, depictions of Horus in the form of a falcon were quite rare in Greece, though exceptions are known for example from Marathon from the second century CE (Isis in…, p. 174-175).

Priest wearing a mask of Anubis on a mosaic from El Djem (wikimedia commons). It’s worth noting that Isis, her spouse, the Hellenistic derivative of her spouse and their son weren’t the only Egyptian deities who entered Greco-Roman religion. While less common, religious associations of Anubis devotees (“Anoubiasts”) are also attested, for example on Rhodes (Isis in…, p. 38-39). Additionally, Roman sources indicate that Kikellia, a festival celebrating Isis’ search for Osiris, involved priests wearing masks of Anubis (Isis and…, p. 68). As far as somewhat more elusive deities go, offerings to Nephthys are mentioned in a cultic calendar from Athens (Isis in…, p. 207). 

A Roman statue of Nilus (wikimedia commons). In various other locations across the Greco-Roman world at least vaguely Egyptian deities who could be worshiped alongside Isis also included Apis, Amon, Bastet (Boubastis in Greek), Bes, Sobek, Thoth, and two newcomers: Neilos/Nilus (the personified Nile; I will cover him in more detail in the future) and emperor Hadrian’s deified lover Antinous, who died in Egypt (Alexander Evers, Keeping a Secret: The Mystery Cults of Isis and Sarapis in Carthage and Its Territory in Religion at Carthage 800 BCE-439 CE From Baal-Hammon to Christ, p. 89).

Isis and Greek goddesses

A 19th century reproduction of Isis from a Ptolemaic gem (wikimedia commons). While multiple deities associated with Isis came with her from Egypt, she also developed a variety of new associations abroad - I already brought up some in the first section of this article. However, making her a relative of various Greek deities was not the only possible approach. Numerous sources instead identify her with Greek goddesses outright instead. Plenty of information about this aspect of perception of Isis is contained in aretalogies. This term refers to a type of hymns which circulated among communities of her devotees between the third century BCE and third century CE. Their distribution is limited to Greece and the westernmost part of Anatolia. References to them can be found in the works of authors hailing from further away though, for example Apuleius and Diodorus Siculus (Isis in…, p. 55). Most of the aretalogies follow a fixed tripartite structure. The first part describes the most important characteristics of Isis; the second her family connections and other associations; finally, the third praises her as a deity with complete control over the world, obtained through her mastery of fate (Isis in…, p. 71). Her universal rulership could be exemplified by the epithet pantokrateira (παντοκράτειρα), “all-ruler”, attested in one of the aretalogies, as well as in a funerary inscription of a priestess from Megalopolis in the Peloponnese. In some cases, she is recast as a creator figure, responsible for separating heaven and earth, a typically Egyptian cosmogonic motif (Thomas M. Dousa, Imagining Isis: on Some Continuities and Discontinuities in the Image of Isis in Greek Isis Hymns and Demotic Texts, p. 161). Since I already mentioned that Isis was associated with Demeter, I’ll also start with this connection here. An aretalogy from Maroneia credits Isis with the “revelation of crops”, which has been argued to be a clear case of reassignment of Demeter’s qualification to her (Greek Gods…, p. 74). After all, in Histories Herodotus outright refers to Isis as Demter (Isis, Osiris…, p. 422-423). However, multiple other explanations are possible. For instance, Egyptian sources indicate at some point Isis came to be identified with Renenunet, a goddess associated with the harvest. There’s at least one case, courtesy of a certain Isidorus (I’ll go back to him in a bit), where her Greek name, Hermouthis, is used to refer to Isis. It might also be that Osiris’ agricultural qualifications were transferred to Isis. Or that her association with Sothis, which rose in the sky at the time of the annual Nile flood crucial for agriculture, led to the assignment of an agricultural role. Or that the passage is a derivative of the euhemerist convention of primarily seeing the gods as inventors of the essential tools and institutions of civilization. Or that multiple of these factors were involved - possibly including the identification with Demeter. But it cannot be necessarily assumed that it was the sole reason behind crediting Isis with the discovery of crops (Imagining Isis…, p. 152-156). Diodorus took a fairly cautious approach when he discussed Isis and Demeter. He didn’t present the two as absolutely identical, but merely explained that Demeter is Isis’ “nearest equivalent” among Greek deities (Greek Gods…, p. 55). Meanwhile, Eudoxus of Cnidus was puzzled by the claim of equivalence between Isis and Demeter since, as he noted, the former was associated with love, while the latter was not. He was similarly baffled by the association between Osiris and Dionysus, seeing as the latter had nothing to do with the Nile, nor was he ever portrayed as ruler of the dead (Greek Gods…, p. 53).

Seated Isis with Harpocrates (wikimedia commons).

In art combining the attributes of Isis and Demeter was actually fairly rare. Seated images of Isis with baby Harpocrates, while derived from Egyptian forerunners, were partially patterned on seated Demeter statues, but that’s about it (Isis in…, p. 100-101). 

I think Sarolta A. Takács hit the nail on its head when she wrote that “Isis can be identified as Demeter, but, and this is important, she is not Demeter” (Isis and…, p. 27). The nature of Isis’ cult, and the expectations of the devotees involved, were distinct enough to warrant concluding she and Demeter clearly weren’t perceived as one and the same (Greek Gods…, p. 62).

Quite importantly, there’s also evidence not just for the perception of Demeter as a distinct deity in Egypt, but even for adoption of her, with no identification with Isis involved. Her name was simply transcribed phonetically in Demotic (Greek Gods…, p. 78). Members of her clergy, including priests bearing Egyptian, rather than Greek, names are mentioned in texts from the Fayum oasis from the third century BCE; a temple dedicated to her existed in Sinkepha; and she was quite popular in Alexandria (Dorothy J. Thompson, Demeter in Greco-Roman Egypt, p. 700-701). In De Iside et Osiride, Plutarch asserts that Egyptians themselves considered Athena to be Isis’ equivalent, due to perceiving both goddesses as self-created. For what it’s worth, an apparent assignment of some of Athena’s traditional roles to Isis is documented in aretalogies from Kyme and Thessaloniki. She’s specifically credited with establishing both Greek and barbarian languages, and with the enforcement of justice in similar terms as Athena usually was (Isis in…, p. 114-115).

Statues of Isis as Persephone and Serapis as Hades from Heraklion (wikimedia commons). I’m not aware of any evidence for the equation between Athena and Isis from Athens, though. Instead, a cultic calendar from this city from first or second century CE which belonged to a community seemingly mostly focused on the Eleusinian deities is sometimes argued to be evidence for treating Hades and Persephone as the interpretatio graeca of Osiris and Isis in this specific context (Isis in…, p. 207). The same phenomenon might be behind pairing Persephone with Osiris and/or Serapis in a historiola from a spell from the magical papyri (Robert W. Daniel,  Franco Maltomini, Supplementum Magicum Vol. I, p. 146; while this is not relevant here, the spell is also explicitly lesbian, I covered it here).

A statue of Isis-Aphrodite from second century CE Egypt (wikimedia commons). Treating Aphrodite as Isis’ Greek counterpart is attested too (Isis in…, p. 166). It has been suggested that this had less to do with the character Isis herself and more with her preexisting association with Hathor, though. It’s easy to understand why Aphrodite would serve as the interpretatio graeca of the latter, who, among other things, was the preeminent Egyptian deity associated with love. Since especially from the perspective of rulers Isis was the goddess par excellence, it was fairly common for her to partially absorb the competences of others at least in the sphere of royal cult; since Hathor was particularly commonly affected by this phenomenon, presumably her interpretatio graeca was claimed for Isis too by extension (Magical Hymns…, p. 10).

While very uncommon, an equivalence between Isis and Hecate is also documented (William Bruce, Kassandra Jackson Miller, Towards a Typology of Triangular Bronze Hekate Bases: Contextualizing a New Find from Sardis, p. 514). The two were never fully conflated, though (Magical Hymns…, p. 377). None of Isis’ conventional attributes were ever transferred to Hecate (Magical Hymns…, p. 376). An exception might be a magical apparatus from Sardis which shows Hecate holding a sistrum (Towards a Typology…, p. 514). The magical papyri, on the other hand, document partial absorption of Hecate’s sphere of influence by Isis (Magical Hymns…, p. 289). The scope of the association is disputed, though (Magical Hymns…, p. 278-279).

Greeks evidently did reinterpret Isis as a lunar figure, with her horned crown recast as a representation of the moon (Magical Hymns…, p. 289). On the other hand, the association with the star Sothis was never transferred from her to Hecate. Same goes for any of her’ family connections: none of the magical papyri refer to Hecate as sister or wife of Osiris, mother of Horus, or daughter of Geb - or of Greek deities they could be associated with, for that matter, like Cronus in the case of Geb (Magical Hymns…, p. 374-375). As a side note it should be pointed out that Cronus’ identification with Geb was hardly absolute. It’s not attested particularly frequently, and he also could be identified with Atum instead (Magical Hymns…, p. 377).

A particularly peculiar case is the identification of Isis with Io. It is exemplified by the epithet Inachis, “daughter of Inachos”, particularly common in Latin poetry. However, it never occurs in a cultic context (Isis Pelagia…, p. 148). In the light of this association and the plot of the myth of Io, it’s curious that bovine imagery, while associated with Isis in Egypt to a degree, is a notable omission from her repertoire in Greek sources (Magical Hymns…, p. 373). It’s worth noting that while Aelian is to be believed, an extension of this identification - namely the claim that Io’s son Epaphus was identical with the divine bull Apis - was rejected by Egyptians aware of it because it was, as they argued, chronologically implausible (Greek Gods…, p. 58).

The list identifications listed above isn’t complete; I think it’s fairly representative, though, and that it demonstrates well that every apparent equation needs to be placed in context and isn't necessarily universal. Ultimately it seems that Isis was, for the most part, simply herself across the Greco-Roman world (Greek Gods…, p. 57). It has been argued that the process she underwent was not exclusively interpretatio graeca, but also (or, arguably, instead) something that could be more aptly called adaptatio graeca (Isis Pelagia…, p. 46). She was evidently popular with Greeks living in Egypt - and beyond - not simply because they saw her as a goddess they already knew in a new guise. As a matter of fact, she received more dedication in Greek in Egypt than any actual Greek deity did (Greek Gods…, p. 84). An interesting dedication from Elephantine from the second century BCE refers to “Hestia also known as Anoukis” and “Dionysus also known as Petempamentis” - but Isis is simply herself, with no explanation provided, as if she was equally Greek and Egyptian by then (Greek Gods…, p. 67).

The new Isis in Egypt

A Roman period Egyptian depiction of Isis (wikimedia commons). Somewhat ironically, we know relatively little about how the “regular” form of Isis’ cult functioned in Egypt after the rise of the “international” Isis (Isis, Osiris…, p. 426). It seems that the inhabitants of Egypt started to argue that various foreign deities were actually Isis in order to stress her status and their own primacy among her worshipers (Syrians call…, p. 364). She acquired a new title, myrionomos (μυριώνυμος), “thousand-named”, in order to highlight these theological developments (Greek Gods…, p. 106). Claiming Isis was already present overseas under numerous guises might have been a way to make her more easily fit outside Egypt, too. Obviously, her position in the Egyptian pantheon was not at the risk of being challenged - but in Greece and beyond her cult had to compete for attention with various others. Therefore, a way to give her an edge over her divine “competitors” had to be developed (Imagining Isis…, p. 183).

In at least some cases, this could lead to henotheistic tendencies - the worship of a single deity as a preeminent power of the pantheon, with others at best deriving their positions from them. Some degree of henotheism was already present in the cult of Isis for centuries before she became an international goddess. To, say, a Middle Kingdom Egyptian this would have more to do with how important the notion of kingship among the gods was, though; it didn’t necessarily require conflation (Isis in…, p. 72-73). Isis only managed to completely absorb multiple other Egyptian goddesses - like Satis, Serket or Neith - by the Ptolemaic and Roman periods (Gods and…, p. 237). The extensive lists of Isis’ supposed identities in aretalogies and other late sources might have been the result of taking this even further, to its logical extreme (Imagining Isis…, p. 174-175). A particularly informative source about the late Egyptian view of Isis is a hymn composed by a certain Isidorus, a man from Narmouthis (Medinet Madi) who may or may not have been a priest. His name is Greek (though it invokes Isis), and that was also the language he wrote in; he seemingly knew some demotic, but not hieroglyphics. He states he had to depend on discussions with experts more familiar with “sacred writing” to gain more insights into Isis. He never actually calls himself an Egyptian, either. However, he simultaneously takes pride in his local temple and its traditions, and puts an emphasis on Egyptian culture. Therefore, his perspective can be assumed to be an example of a specifically Egyptian attitude, or at least a local version of it (Syrians call…, p. 362). As for the hymn, it asserts that virtually every culture from outside Egypt (as Isidorus put it: “Thracians, Greeks and barbarians”) worshiped a goddess who is actually Isis. It enumerates Astarte, Artemis (sic) and Nanaya as her Syrian names; “Mother of the Gods” as Thracian; Leto as Lycian; Hera, Aphrodite, Hestia, Rhea and Demeter as Greek; and finally explains that Egyptians know her best and refer to her as Thiouis (“unique”, “sole”) to emphasize that many foreign goddesses are actually her in various local guises (Syrians call…, p. 363). Needless to say, the purpose was almost definitely propagandistic, elevating Isis above the other deities listed (Gods and…, p. 237). Despite the emphasis on Egyptian expertise it wasn’t quite nationalism in the modern sense, though (Syrians call…, p. 372). While I won’t dwell upon every single identification from Isidorus’ list, it’s important to note at least some of them were ad hoc. For instance, the unique epithet referring to Hera - megalóthronon, “(seated) upon a great throne” - is actually an artificial translation of an Egyptian title. It was applied to Isis (and a few other goddesses), but not to Hera (Isis Pelagia…, p. 148).

Two other cases are particularly worth singling out, those of Astarte and Nanaya.

Two Egyptian depictions of equestrian Ashtart (Izak Cornelius, The Many Faces of the Goddess: The Iconography of the Syro-Palestinian Goddesses Anat, Astarte, Qedeshet, and Asherah c. 1500-1000 BCE, p. 240; reproduced here for educational purposes only). In the case of Astarte the details are partially obscured by the use of the same romanization for multiple cognate theonyms from different languages. The conventional “Astarte” reflects the Greek spelling of the name of a Phoenician deity (Άσταρτη), first attested around the seventh century BCE (Aren M. Wilson-Wright, Athtart: The Transmission and Transformation of a Goddess in the Late Bronze Age, p. 146-147). However, a goddess with a cognate name actually entered the Egyptian pantheon considerably earlier, in the New Kingdom period (Christiane Zivie-Coche, Foreign Deities in Egypt in the UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, p. 2). Despite their names being often romanized the same way, the two are distinct (Athtart…, p. 149). I personally think keeping the Hellenized form of the name for the Phoenician Astarte, and Ashtart, Attart, or Athtart for the goddess known from Egypt (as well as Ugarit, Emar and a few other sites) would be an ideal solution, and I try to stick to that myself, but ultimately no discipline is particularly consistent about it. Ashtart, who was originally worshiped in northern Syria, actually wasn’t equated with any preexisting Egyptian deity. She retained her name and character, and simply came to be depicted as if she were Egyptian all along. That was the case for most foreign deities who entered the Egyptian pantheon (Foreign Deities…, p. 5-6). It’s plausible that she was “adopted” because the Egyptians had no deity linked with the military use of horses and chariots (Athtart…, p. 29). She continued to be worshiped well into the Roman period, and a Ptolemaic source still recognizes her as the “mistress of horses, lady of the chariot” (Rüdiger Schmitt, Astarte, Mistress of Horses, Lady of the Chariot: The Warrior Aspect of Astarte, p. 222-223). Since Isidorus situated his Astarte outside Egypt, I’d assume it’s safe to say he doesn’t mean the same goddess - but rather the same one Greeks were familiar with. For what it’s worth, Astarte appears jointly with Isis - as well as Aphrodite - in a dedication from Delos dated to around 140 BCE. It doesn’t appear to treat them as equivalents,though, let alone conflate or at least confuse them. Instead, a sailor seemingly opted to invoke all deities he was aware of who could protect him while at sea, just in case (Isis Pelagia…, p. 150). Her association with royal power (Astarte, Mistress…, p. 218) arguably makes her a pretty decent match for Isis compared to some of the other options in the hymn, though. On top of that, as early as in the Hellenistic period, she became somewhat nondescript, and was recognized as the counterpart of numerous foreign goddesses based largely just on similarly high position in the respective pantheons (Astarte, Mistress…, p. 219). The warlike aspect evident in Egyptian sources dealing with Ashtart, and which is also well represented in Bronze Age Ugarit and Emar, is missing altogether from Phoenician sources dealing with her “relative” (Astarte, Mistress…, p. 217). 

A possible hellenistic depiction of Nanaya (wikimedia commons).

The inclusion of Mesopotamian Nanaya is perhaps even more interesting. While she spread across Syria and central Asia, she is relatively sparsely attested in Egypt, with the exception of some of the theophoric names of Arameans who settled there and the Aramaic Papyrus Amherst 63. Tawny L. Holm additionally suggests that Isis Sononais worshiped in Nabla in Fayum was actually Nanaya under an Egyptian guise, which would offer a unique parallel to Isidorus’ bold claim (Nanay(a) Among the Arameans: New Light from Papyrus Amherst 63, p. 100). I’m not aware of any other author who supports this interpretation of Isis Sononais, though. Note that there’s no evidence any sort of association between Nanaya and Isis was recognized in Mesopotamia. The only possible attestation of Isis from this region I’m aware of is a single theophoric name from Seleucid Uruk, Ḫanin-esi (Julia Krul, Some Observations on Late Urukean Theophoric Names, p. 359). However, there’s no evidence for an actual cult of Isis in this city - whether in the Seleucid period or in any other point in its history (Idem, The Revival of the Anu Cult and the Nocturnal Fire Ceremony at Late Babylonian Uruk, p. 71). Actually, attestations of Isis from the Seleucid Empire as a whole - not just Mesopotamia - are uncommon and limited largely to a handful of references to Greek private worship or to the presence of Egyptians in its westernmost areas. Most of them date to the early decades of its history, and notably none come from later than 174 BCE. The general consensus is that Mesopotamia simply wasn’t an area where her cult could’ve spread to any meaningful degree (John Ma, Les Cultes Isiaques Dans l’Espace Séleucide, p. 133-134). The final name which warrants some commentary is Thiouis. From the New Kingdom onwards, and especially in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, referring to various deities as “unique” to stress their elevated position in the pantheon was, ironically, fairly common. It’s not really an indication of monotheism, but a declaration of superiority of one’s preferred deity over the other members of the pantheon. In some cases this was combined with the assignment of the role of a creator deity. However, Isis could also be called “unique” simply because her son Horus was conceived in an otherwise unparalleled supernatural way; or because as a goddess of magic she was seen as uniquely skilled at it (Imagining Isis…, p. 170-173).

The limits of interpretatio

Isis, as depicted in a wall painting from the tomb of the pharaoh Seti I (wikimedia commons) The complexities of Isis’ on and off identification with other deities warrant asking if this was simply another way in which she was unique, or if perhaps the popular modern understanding of interpretatio graeca (and romana) that’s wrong. In popular perception, it’s often basically as if deities subject to this process were fully identical and interchangeable, on a one to one basis (Greek Gods…, p. 33), which obviously doesn’t line up too well with Isis’ manifold associations often dependent on specific context.

Before looking at a variety of examples to answer this question, I’ll stress this section will only deal with interpretatio as an actually attested ancient phenomenon. Baseless modern claims of equivalence or conflation, particularly common in the case of Levantine, Syrian or Mesopotamian deities, are a separate issue (Ted Kaizer, Identifying the Divine in the Roman Near East, p. 114) and won’t be dealt with here. For what it’s worth, at least at first glance it does seem that at least some Greek and Roman authors - for example Herodotus - operated on assumptions not too dissimilar from the popular modern understanding of interpretatio (Greek Gods…, p. 42-43). They essentially thought that the same gods are worshiped all over the world and only their names differ from place to place (Greek Gods…, p. 53). This could take the form of diffusionism: some Greeks probably did genuinely believe that Egyptian gods were actually Greek gods worshiped in forms they took to flee from Typhon, as relayed by Pindar. However, this could go both ways - Plutarch was convinced Isis was known all over the world and the spread of her cult merely reflected people learning her true name and proper rites (Greek Gods…, p. 58-59). However, it’s also possible that the underlying idea behind declaring foreign deity y is Greek deity x merely meant that the characters of the two are comparable. When understood this way, interpretatio would be closer to an explanation of what to expect from a foreign deity per analogy with a Greek one, rather than outright identification (Greek Gods…, p. 53). Diodorus’ comment about Isis being the “nearest equivalent” of Demeter is taken as an example of this attitude, for instance (Greek Gods…, p. 55). It might be that both models could coexist, too. There are multiple examples of authors who seemingly assume major deities took different identities in different cultures, but simultaneously accept the existence of various local figures who didn’t necessarily have equivalents anywhere else (Greek Gods…, p. 61). Even Herodotus is not entirely committed to universality of the gods - Apis in Egypt, Kybebe in Sardis and Pleistoros in Thrace are all characterized as uniquely local deities in Histories (Greek Gods…, p. 56). Untangling interpretatio is further complicated by the cases where two theonyms - one Greek and/or Roman, the other from another culture - are conjoined. Perhaps the most famous examples are Herodotus’ “Zeus Belus” and “Zeus Ammon”, but similar double names are quite common across the eastern reaches of the Hellenistic (and later Roman) world, in Egypt, and across Roman Gaul and Germany (Greek Gods…, p. 43). These double names might have been understood as, roughly, “Zeus who is Ammon” or “an aspect of Zeus referred to as Ammon” and so on, but also as “a god named Ammon who happens to resemble Zeus” (Greek Gods…, p. 59). In other words, they might reflect the recognition of similarities in function between gods from different cultures without denying that their character didn’t fully overlap and without outright identification (Greek Gods…, p. 52). Zeus in particular occurs in these double names so often in the east that his name might be used simply as an indicator that a figure of high rank is meant. For instance, Zeus Marnas was likely understood as “supreme god Marnas”, not as identification between the two (Greek Gods…, p. 49). There are even cases where this is attested for Greek gods, or gods too firmly integrated into Greek religion to usually be subject to interpretatio - Zeus Serapis, Zeus Sabazios, Zeus Dionysus, Zeus Asclepius, Zeus Ares (this might just be a misspelling of Nabatean Dousares vel Dushara, though), even Zeus Heracles are all attested. It remains unclear how Zeus' name became a generic moniker, though (Greek Gods…, p. 93-94).

A similar phenomenon is documented for Heracles. His identification with foreign gods - Phoenician Melqart in particular - initially led to the development of the idea that there were two bearers of this name: one a “regular” god, the other a deified hero modern readers are familiar with (Greek Gods…, p. 94). Later on the splitting kept repeating over and over again. Varro, writing in the first century BCE, stated that he was aware of forty-three Heracleses, and concluded that “all those who were valiant were called Herakles”. To be fair, this was not an universal view - Plutarch and Aristides both insisted that there was only one Heracles, and that his deeds were so unparalleled that traces of him can be found all over the world (Greek Gods…, p. 38). 

Given the sheer number of gods identified with Zeus and Heracles in various areas, it's important to note here that since individual cases of interpretatio of the same god could reflect completely different circumstances, it cannot be assumed that all of the acquired connections were automatically transferrable. To use another example, the fact Apollo and Resheph were recognized as each other’s counterparts on Cyprus doesn’t mean that Resheph had anything to do with Horus, even though he was understood as Apollo’s counterpart elsewhere. Similarly, Resheph’s Mesopotamian association with Nergal cannot be transferred to Apollo (Maciej Münnich, The God Resheph in the Ancient Near East, p. 221). Even in the case of Greco-Roman identifications this has to be taken into account - for instance, the fact that Greeks considered Roman Consus the equivalent of Poseidon Seisichthon (“earthshaker”) doesn’t reflect a connection between Consus and Neptune (Greek Gods…, p. 50

Just as the double theonyms were widespread in specific areas, apparent replacement of a foreign theonym with a Greek or Roman one predominated in others. The most prominent examples include Africa west of Egypt, Thrace and Anatolia (Greek Gods…, p. 43). In areas where the indigenous pantheon is not well documented, it’s often impossible to tell when a god referred to with a Greek or Roman name underwent interpretatio. It sometimes cannot even be established if, say, Ares or Apollo stand for only one deity, or if multiple were subsumed under them. Egypt is actually an outlier in that it’s fairly clear which deity is meant by which Greek name more often than not - but still not always (Greek Gods…, p. 69).

A statuette of Men from the third century CE (wikimedia commons).

It should be noted that even in areas where straightforward replacement of other theonyms by Greek or Roman ones occurred, exceptions exist. In Anatolia Men and Meter (the forerunner of Cybele) entered Greek religion under their own names; other deities, like Carian Sinuri, Cilician Perasia or Lycian Kakasbos also retained their own in dedications. Anaitis, a derivative of Persian Anahita, only inconsistently was recognized as a form of Artemis, and could be worshiped under her own name (Greek Gods…, p. 66). Furthermore, even with a name change there’s no guarantee that the original deity was fully replaced - the cult of Saturn (ie. Carthaginian Baal Hammon) in north Africa had little to do with the Roman god bearing this name, for instance (Greek Gods…, p. 43). In at least one case, a difference in gender might have been responsible for the lack of interpretatio of a figure from an area where most local deities came to be fully identified with Greek ones. The Carian healing goddess Hemithea (“demigoddess”) regularly appears under her own name in Greek sources possibly specifically because the main candidates for identification based on shared functions were firmly masculine (Greek Gods…, p. 86-87).

This being said, while such cases are rare, the gender of deities involved could be overlooked for the sake of interpretatio. One example comes from Antioch in Pisidia, where Roman settlers referred to Men as Luna (Greek Gods…, p. 84). Another clearly masculine lunar deity, Mao, was for a time labeled as Selene on Kushan coins before Kanishka’s reforms resulted in the abandonment of the use of Greek names in this context (Michael Shenkar, Intangible Spirits and Graven Images: The Iconography of Deities in the Pre-Islamic Iranian World, p. 99). Another Kushan deity, Teiro (the counterpart of masculine Zoroastrian Tishtrya) is portrayed in the form of Artemis on a unique coin of Huvishka (Intangible Spirits…, p. 149).

A special case is Herodotus' (in)famous claim that Persians call Aphrodite Mithra, which is probably nothing more than a mistake on his part, despite various highly abstract attempts at salvaging the passage’s reputation (Albert de Jong, Traditions of the Magi. Zoroastrianism in Greek and Latin Literature, p. 103-110).

Another important caveat to bear in mind is that the presence of a Greek deity outside Greece or a Roman one outside Italy doesn’t necessarily imply interpretatio. For instance, Asclepius was worshiped as an imported deity across Anatolia - there was no local deity hiding behind his name. This doesn’t mean that a similar situation was meant when Greeks spoke of worship of Asclepius in Phoenicia - in the latter case the healing god Eshmun was meant (Greek Gods…, p. 50). Carthage provides some interesting examples too. For instance, Apollo wasn’t a stand-in for a local god there. Seemingly he was directly imported from Delphi, judging from the fact that Carthage was the only city so far to the west to ever host the Pythian Games (David L. Riggs, Traditions of Divine Patronage in Roman Carthage in Religion at Carthage 800 BCE–439 CE From Baal-Hammon to Christ,  p. 229). Similarly, the presence of Demeter and Persephone reflected their incorporation into the local pantheon, which originally occurred in 396 BCE. They were even worshiped in accordance with Greek customs. An unusual local phenomenon is the fact that both of them were de facto referred to as Ceres in Latin - numerous inscriptions refer to them jointly as Cereres (the plural form of the name). One directly clarifies that a mother and a daughter hide behind this moniker (Traditions of…, p. 227-228).

The fact both Demeter and her daughter were identified with Ceres in Carthage is not exactly a unique phenomenon either - genealogy in general was not a concern for interpretatio. Herodotus already admits that his attempt at explaining genealogies of Egyptian gods using the Greek names he assigned to them creates a situation which hardly parallels Greek tradition. It’s clear that later on the matter was typically just ignored; the identification of a foreign deity and a Greek one didn’t also imply the identification of their family members. In some cases a conscious effort was made to keep genealogies apart, as in the case of Heracles and the “Tyrian Heracles”, ie. Melqart (Greek Gods…, p. 51).

Regardless of whether interpretatio reflected the belief that gods were identical or merely comparable, the reasons behind juxtaposing specific figures with each other are often opaque (Greek Gods…, p. 60). Many cases might actually be entirely subjective (Greek Gods…, p. 49).

A statue of Jupiter Dolichenus (wikimedia commons). A good example are instances of interpretatio which might have developed simply because of a need to solve a problem created by different naming patterns in Greek (or Latin) and a local language. In particular, descriptive names of deities of the “god of (toponym)” or “lady of (toponym)”, common in Anatolia, Phoenicia and Syria, fell into this category. For instance, the tutelary god of Doliche was simply “the Dolichenian god” to the locals, but he spread far and wide as Zeus Dolichenus  or, even more commonly, Jupiter (Optimus Maximus) Dolichenus (Greek Gods…, p. 85-86). In a unique case, a Greek dedication uses one Phoenician deity as the interpretatio graeca of another - Baalat Gebal, “lady of Byblos”, becomes “Astarte, greatest goddess” in Greek (Greek Gods…, p. 86). The two were almost definitely distinct as far as the Phoenicians were concerned, though. Philo of Byblos explicitly discusses them as two distinct goddesses, and the interpretatio graeca he provides for Baalat Gebal is Dione (Anna E. Zernecke, The Lady of the Titles: The Lady of Byblos and the Search for her "True Name", p. 231-232). Curiously, Greek theonyms of a similar sort as “the Dolichenian god” and “the lady of Byblos” did exist. Granted, most of them are either limited to early periods (like the various Mycenaean goddesses referred to with the term Potnia, “lady”), or come from peripheral areas and as such might reflect either foreign influence or survival of tradition which went extinct elsewhere (Greek Gods…, p. 5). Post-Mycenaean examples are known from Pamphylia and Cyprus, for instance (Greek Gods…, p. 84). There were also deities who were referred to with names of this variety in Greek because their true name was supposed to be only known to those initiated into their mysteries. A well known example is Despoina (“mistress”) of Lycosura in Arcadia, mentioned by Pausanias. This is arguably closer to using euphemisms to refer to underworld deities, though - a “true” name did exist, and was merely avoided in specific contexts (Greek Gods…, p. 5-6). There are also cases where ancient authors directly state that different aspects of a deity might warrant separate comparisons, and thus lead to different views on the correct interpretatio. Tacitus notes that Serapis resembles different gods he was more familiar with when different criteria are considered: Asclepius as a healing god shared the most common purpose of invoking him, his position in the pantheon made him akin to Jupiter and Osiris(!), and his iconography made him comparable to Dis Pater (Greek Gods…, p. 48). Uncommon cases of apparently simultaneously identifying a foreign god with two Greek or Roman ones - like Zenoposeidon (ie. Zeus-Poseidon) from Mylasa in Caria, Hera-Aphrodite from Akoris (likely Hathor), and so on - might reflect similar concerns (Greek Gods…, p. 94-95). Some cases of interpretatio rested on very vague foundations. Most notably, Greek geographers at times insisted that Heracles, as well as Dionysus, were worshiped in India, listing specific cult centers like Nysa or Oxydracae and thus implying identification with their actual deities. However, their imagined presence there was seemingly derived from the idea that both of these gods traveled to India, which only emerged in the wake of Alexander’s conquests. And on top of that, it wasn’t the character of any specific Indian deity that resulted in the assertions that the main god of one city or another is a guise of Dionysus or Heracles. Instead, vague reports about the nature or customs of India were interpreted as a sign of the presence of a Greek god. For example, the abundance of ivy around Nysa was all that was necessary to place Dionysus there. It was essentially interpretatio without the need for a god (Greek Gods…, p. 184-186).

Sometimes multiple rationales behind identifying deities with each other might coexist within a single text - for example, a bilingual dedication from Palmyra refers to Nanaya as Artemis in line with a Seleucid convention developed for political reasons, to the local goddess Herta as Hera seemingly just due to the phonetic similarity between the names, and on top of that transcribes Resheph’s name in Greek as Rasaphes instead of providing any sort of interpretatio (Greek Gods…, p. 46). Another example like that is the Greek translation of an Egyptian composition conventionally referred to as the Myth of the Sun’s Eye. Hermes replaces Thoth, but since the other main character, Tefnut, had no notable interpretatio graeca to fall back on, she is simply referred to as a “lady” (δέσποτι) or “goddess” (θεά) to avoid addressing this problem. Different approaches were also taken in the case of figures playing smaller roles in this narrative: Shu is referred to as Aresnouphis (“the good comrade”), a hellenized spelling of his conventional Egyptian epithet; Ra is translated both as Zeus and the sun; his enemy Apep disappears altogether leaving the gods with an “ungodly crowd” (ἀσεβῶν πλῆθος) of amorphous opponents instead (Stephanie West, Divine Anger Management. The Greek Version of the Myth of the Sun’s Eye (P. Lond. Lit. 192), p. 82).

A further problem is who believed in the correctness of interpretatio. It should be stressed that most of the direct evidence for interpretatio reflecting universality of specific gods comes from Greco-Roman authors, and typically presumes it is their view of the divine that’s the most correct. With some exceptions (like Isidorus’ hymn to Isis), it’s up for debate if the average Egyptian, Phrygian, Gaul etc. would necessarily agree, even if they accepted the premise. Lucian satirizes this phenomenon by having a fictional Gaul accept that Ogmios is Heracles - just to declare that it is the Gaulish take on him that’s actually true, with the Greek one being mistaken (Greek Gods…, p. 62-63). A similar attitude can be detected in Philo of Byblos’ Phoenician History - he accepts many identifications between Greek and Phoenician deities, but in the end he sees the Phoenician tradition as more genuine. Or at least his personal take on it, seeing as the whole endeavor is euhemerist - the gods are reimagined as long dead historical figures, which obviously wasn’t normally the case (Greek Gods…, p. 63-64). 

It’s also worth stressing that Philo in some cases wasn’t consistent - the craftsman god Chousor becomes both Hephaestus and Zeus Meilichios at different points (Greek Gods…, p. 50). Others are provided with artificial Greek names - for example, there was no god named Siton (“grain”); his name is merely the result of Philo interpreting Dagon’s name as “grain” and providing an ad hoc Greek translation (Greek Gods…, p. 63).

Granted, Philo is not unique in that regard. No matter if names were combined or replaced, the process of interpretatio never revolved around seeking a separate counterpart for every Greek or Roman figure. The repertoire of deities used to “translate” foreign ones could actually be fairly small. Gaulish or Germanic gods were persistently identified as Mars, Mercury or Hercules by the Romans; Greeks saw Zeus and Apollo everywhere in Anatolia (Greek Gods…, p. 49). On the other hand, minor gods, as well as heroes other than Heracles and Asclepius (who were functionally gods more than heroes anyway; Greek Gods…, p. 10), very rarely were subject to interpretatio. One notable exception is Polybius’ reference to an unspecified Carthaginian god whose name he translates into Greek as Iolaus. The context indicates a minor figure associated with Melqart, Eshmun or Sid was meant, but no more precise identification is possible. The  worship of the deified mythical Theban princess Leucothea (Ino)  in Sidon and Tyre might be another similar case. It has been argued that she was identified with a local goddess, possibly because the Phoenicians were aware of their association with Thebes in Greek mythography and considered it prestigious. However, it’s also possible that the cult of Leucothea was simply imported there (Greek Gods…, p. 50). On a similar note, Greek writers were also at times perplexed by Roman deities, especially minor ones (Greek Gods…, p. 49). Dionysius of Halicarnassus lists multiple attempts at “translating” Roman Penates into Greek, all of which are descriptive terms reflecting their functions, rather than interpretatio in the strict sense  (Greek Gods…, p. 54). How to deal with Janus seemed to be an utter mystery to Greeks, too. He never came to be viewed as a counterpart of any Greek god - Ovid explicitly pointed this out as a peculiarity in Fasti. Even his classification was up for debate for the Greeks: Herodian saw him as an “Italian god” (Greek Gods…, p. 49), but Dionysius only as a local daimon (Greek Gods…, p. 56-57). Meanwhile, Dio Cassius (who was a Roman senator, but had partially Greek roots and wrote in Greek) considered him a hero, though a particularly ancient one, active during Cronus’ reign over the cosmos (Greek Gods…, p. 49). 

Given the often vague or subjective reasons involved in the process of interpretatio, it comes as no surprise that it might have been contested (Greek Gods…, p. 49). I already mentioned the Egyptian attitude towards Epaphus reported by Aelian and Eudoxus’ disbelief as examples. This being said, testimonies of open rejection of the idea of interpretatio itself are not very common (Greek Gods…, p. 69).

A famous, though exceptional, case of complete rejection of interpretatio graeca is commemorated by the Jewish festival of hanukkah. Supposedly Antiochus IV issued an edict requiring the recognition of Yahweh as Zeus Olympios at Jerusalem, as relayed in the Second Book of Maccabees. It might be that this idea was embraced by various Hellenising factions, and that they perhaps even had a role in the issuing of the edict, seeing it as a way to make the Jewish community a part of the broader Hellenistic world. The majority rejected it, though. It’s worth noting that the recognition of Yahweh as Zeus wasn’t the only interpretatio proposed by Greeks, too - Dionysus was also a fairly popular candidate (Greek Gods…, p. 69-70). On top of that, the magical papyri preserve a third tradition: Iao, who in one case appears as a messenger of Zeus (alongside Michael and Gabriel), is a direct adaptation (Magical Hymns…, p. 67-68). The variability of interpretatio indicates that it was rarely, if ever, actively enforced from the top down, ultimately  (Greek Gods…, p. 64-65). A good case study is available from Delos. Syrian sailors weren’t necessarily expected to accept that Atargatis was Aphrodite and Hadad is Zeus, even though that was the nomenclature favored by Athenians residing in the same port. Some of them clearly were fine with a middle ground and dedicated to “Zeus Hadad”, others maintained the original single names, at times even clarifying they’re making offerings to “ancestral deities” from back home (Greek Gods…, p. 164). Evidently, multiple views on whether deities are analogous or not could exist even within a single city’s population (Greek Gods…, p. 174-175). To go back to the main topic of this article, Isis is clearly not unique - very few identifications were absolute in the end, and context always matters. However, I think thanks to abundant evidence she is probably the best case study for explaining the limits of interpretatio.

Searching for Isis

In the light of the evidence gathered above, it’s tempting to ask - why is Isis not a mainstay of overviews of the Greek pantheon aimed at general audiences? Why do modern works go for barely personified abstractions and barely relevant primordial deities over her, Serapis, Men and the like (barring, I guess, inexplicably villainous Serapis from some Percy Jackson spinoff)? I think three problems overlap. Most people online are hobbyists primarily exposed to mythology either through specific works of literature or through their modern adaptations. And literary texts are where interpretatio is the most complete, and “unusual” theonyms - even the ones common elsewhere, like in dedications -  are the least likely to appear (Greek Gods…, p. 84). This only becomes more of a problem when modern adaptations are concerned; the repertoire of deities who appear in them is actually fairly small in the end; even smaller than the selection of theonyms most commonly used as replacements for foreign ones. It’s not like you’re going to see Dione or Mise or Robigus either. The second problem is that secondary literature in the past often was (and sometimes, though not commonly, still is), filled with questionable ideas about the presence of “foreign” deities in Greece and Rome. The usual tropes involve presenting them as uniquely “un-Hellenic” (and/or “un-Roman”), worshiped only by people of low status and questionable moral character, as well as foreigners (Isis and…, p. 1-3). This approach is obviously incorrect; moral conduit notwithstanding, the Ptolemies or numerous Roman emperors hardly represent low strata of society, for instance. To be entirely fair, viewing “foreign”, but also local or simply new deities as suspect does have forerunners in antiquity - for instance, Plutarch, despite his enthusiasm towards Isis, considered Attis and Adonis entities born from pure superstition. Lucian in his satirical Icaromenippus has the protagonist call Pan(!), Attis, Sabazios and the Korybantes “immigrant and questionable gods” (τοὺς μετοίκους τούτους καὶ ἀμφιβόλους θεούς) seated at their own table at Olympus (Greek Gods…, p. 61-62).  Finally, specifically in the case of Isis the lingering notion of linear evolution of religion, with monotheism (or specifically christianity) as the end goal, lead to an equally questionable trend of recasting her cult, with its henotheistic tendencies taken entirely out of context, as inherently different from those of other deities, basically a forerunner of christianity, a missing link proving the validity of the evolutionary model (Isis and…, p. 4).

I would argue there’s a less extreme version of this mindset, still popular online, which might be more relevant nowadays. There’s a type of hobbyist (or, less commonly, professional) who essentially views Greek religion as some sort of evolutionary culmination of antiquity as a whole; Phoenicians, Egyptians, Mesopotamians or various Anatolian peoples exist at best to provide prototypes for Greek deities or myths but are to be resigned to an earlier stratum of history overall.

It’s arguably easier to find people talking about Inanna (or at least some sort of Jungian Inanna byproduct) as if she were a Greek deity due to her status supposed “prototype” of Aphrodite (which I personally think it’s dubious at best, but that’s neither here nor there) than about the actual Greek reception of Isis, Men or Sandas. Cybele, who entered Greece (let alone Rome!) relatively late and only dates back to, is regularly recast as unfathomably ancient, basically a relic of supposed neolithic religion, just because she hailed from elsewhere. Note she arguably emerged later than Zeus, Poseidon or Athena did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen much non-academic discussion of how Egyptian or Phoenician writers engaged in dialogue with Greek works, either. The examples just keep piling up.