I start with two Routledge publications. My general remark has nothing to do with the authors but is directed at the publisher: these books are very expensive as hardbacks, so a paperback, at a third of the cost, might appear to be an attractive alternative. However, my own paperback copy of Understanding Greek Religion Footnote ¹ fell apart on the second opening and continues to disintegrate with every use because the paper is very thick and the pages are glued instead of bound. In the light of the fact that Larson's book aims to be ‘essential resource for both undergraduate and postgraduate students of Greek culture and ancient Mediterranean religions’ (i), the publisher's ‘caveat emptor’ approach is especially jarring. In addition, the format of both books (each chapter is followed by the endnotes and a separate bibliography) is not only impractical as it forces the reader to jump forwards and backwards constantly, but also contributes significantly to the further disintegration of the book. I hope that Routledge will be able to correct this problem with its paperbacks.

Understanding Greek Religion aims to provide an introduction to the field from the perspective of the cognitive science of religion (CSR). Some of the most influential current CSR theories build on a premise that the human mind is not a tabula rasa, but a product of evolution. We are born with mental architecture, which enables us to perceive, learn, and behave according to innate procedures. Evolutionary psychology suggests that the human mind is comprised of many different adaptive cognitive modules. Different tools are used for different problems that arise in the environment. Our brain is more like a Swiss Army knife than a general-purpose learning machine. We were all born with a cognitive system that contains general all-purpose cognitive processing applications, but culture and learning are what drive cognitive development. Applying CSR to the study of Greek religion elegantly sidesteps the debate on whether the ancient Greeks were just like us or desperately alien: if there are universal properties of human cognition, then we and the ancient Greeks have the same cognitive foundations and share a common cognitive architecture, which allows us to use modern studies about religious thought and behaviour to better understand the ancient Greeks.

Larson's book has six thematic units (pantheon and reciprocity, implicit theology, correct religious behaviour, festivals and sacrifice, eschatology, and continuity and change). She opens each unit with an introduction, which explains the CSR approaches to the topic, and then turns to the ancient Greek religious phenomena in three essay-type case studies. For instance, the first section offers an outline of current theories of religion and belief, explains the concepts of intuitive and reflective cognition and counter-intuitive concepts, and the emic and etic approaches. This is followed by three essays: the first discusses the phenomenon of the local pantheon, the second is a comparison of the presentation of Hera in Homer and Hera's role in local cults, and the third is on the idea of reciprocity in Greek religion. Larson is at her best when presenting various aspects of CSR, but her overview of ancient Greek gods and religious practices lacks the essential qualities of every introduction: clarity and structure. The essays are difficult to follow and methodologically problematic: having just outlined the important differences between the local and Panhellenic religion as represented in early epic poetry (10–11), Larson nevertheless proceeds to quote early epic poetry throughout to exemplify various aspects of religious thinking (e.g. reciprocity) and behaviour (e.g. sacrifice or prayer).

My most serious objection is to the way in which Larson handles texts: quotations and examples out of context abound and can be misleading. For instance, in the section on implicit theology, she offers an essay on ‘What Do the Gods Know’ (95–102), and starts her discussion of Greek material by stating:

These are indeed two strange episodes – though by no means inexplicable. The text actually offers a justification and an explanation of Zeus's position: he was bewitched by the magic kestos himas into desiring sex with Hera so much that he decided to create an impenetrable golden cloud around them, thus entrapping himself! In fact, the text of the Iliad clearly states that, when Zeus saw Hera wearing the kestos himas, ‘desire completely enveloped his prudent mind’ (Il. 14.294), which indicates that he would not otherwise have been tricked. In addition, Hera enlisted the help of Hypnos, who put Zeus in a deep sleep (kōma). Not mentioning these circumstances and using the story to illustrate that ‘the gods’ access to information is as limited as that of mortals’ is tendentious. Why not start at the beginning, with what is implied as the norm, not the exceptions: at the start of Book 1 of the Iliad, Hera casually puts into the mind of Achilles the thought of gathering assembly (1.55) and then sends Athena to intervene as Achilles ponders whether to kill Agamemnon on the spot (1.188–96). One could argue that Hera is a mind reader in both instances.

With regard to the Hesiodic tale about the first sacrifice, Larson concedes that Hesiod's Zeus knew of the deception. Nevertheless, she concludes: ‘Hesiod's theology does not extend to a true declaration of omniscience, that Zeus knows everything. Instead, Zeus has strategic information’ (95, emphasis in original). The term ‘strategic information’ is discussed by Pascal Boyer in his 2001 book, Religion Explained, and he defines it as follows: ‘Strategic information is the subset of all the information currently available (to a particular agent, about a particular situation) that activates the mental systems that regulate social interaction.’Footnote ² In human interactions, a piece of information becomes strategic in a particular situation or interaction. ‘Strategic information’ is a useful concept to think with, but it begs the question: What is strategic for ancient Greek gods? Or rather: What did ancient Greek believers think was strategic information for their gods? I fail to see how strategic knowledge excludes omniscience in this particular case.

Larson also argues that the procedure of Greek prophetic oracles ‘reveals the intuitive inference that the gods must hear a question before they can respond’ (96). One can, however, equally well argue that the Greek worshippers were anxious to obtain an answer to a specific question and that writing it down or saying it prevented the gods from addressing different topics or making difficult demands.

CSR is extremely useful and has proven itself very productive in the study of Greek religion already, but it can be a blunt instrument. I have serious reservations about the usefulness of this book as the introductory reading for students. It does, however, offer some points of interest for an expert in the field and is a stimulating and provocative read.

Euhemerus, the early Hellenistic author of Sacred Inscription, was often endorsed but seldom truly understood – or read, for that mater. This is the main thesis of Roubekas’ book, which argues that, even in antiquity, Euhemerus’ theory of religion was distorted, misunderstood, or misrepresented, in order to serve various intellectual agendas.Footnote ³ The first five chapters of the volume reconstruct the main tenets of Sacred Inscription (which Roubekas argues represents a fully formed theory of religion) and its sociopolitical and intellectual context. The remaining three chapters chart the process of turning Euhemerus into ‘Euhemerism’: that is, they discuss the way in which Euhemerus’ theory of religion was misrepresented by both sides in the Christian–pagan polemics, and later by the Renaissance and Enlightenment writers, all the way up to the present age. How did we come to associate Euhemerus first and foremost with the deification of dead humans when his original script distinguishes between two classes of divinities, celestial and earthly gods? According to Roubekas, the process of fragmentation of Euhemerus’ thought started with the first compilers and translators, Diodorus Siculus and Quintus Ennius. Ennius’ translation is lost, but the third- to fourth-century ad Christian writer Lactantius incorporated parts of it in his Divine Institutions. Diodorus relates Euhemerus’ ideas in the fifth and sixth books of the Historical Library. However, Diodorus’ sixth book is lost, and the retelling of Euhemerus from it is reconstructed from Eusebius’ Preparation for the Gospel (third- to fourth-century ad). Since none of Euhemerus’ original work survives, Roubekas first pieces together the content of his script along the following lines: sent by King Cassander on a journey into the Indian Ocean, Euhemerus reached the island of Panchaea, where he encountered a mix of different peoples living in a tripartite social system (priests, farmers, soldiers) and worshipping two classes of divinities, celestial and earthly. The main source for the Panchaean religion was an inscription (hence the title) on a golden stele, set up in the sanctuary of Zeus and written in hieroglyphs. This inscription contained the summary of the deeds of the earthly gods, Uranus, Cronus, and Zeus (to which Hermes later added the deeds of Artemis and Apollo). However, our extant sources offer different versions of the content of this inscription: according to Eusebius, the stele contained the deeds of Uranus, Cronus, and Zeus; Diodorus (Book 5) has Uranus, Zeus, Artemis, Apollo, and Hermes, but no Cronus; Lactantius has only Zeus. This is just one of many disparities between our sources for the Sacred Inscription. According to Roubekas, the essence of Euhemerus’ theory is twofold: the recognition of the division of the divinities into celestial and earthly, and, regarding the earthly divinities, their deification before death. He argues that Euhemerus’ authentic narrative about the earthly divinities is the following: Uranus was the first king, who recognized the heavenly bodies as divinities and instituted their cult. His grandson, Zeus, instituted the posthumous cult of Uranus and was himself deified while he was still alive. For Roubekas, the correct understanding of Euhemerus’ theory of religion must emphasize the two classes of divine beings. Those who only focus on Euhemerus’ theory of earthly divinities are misrepresenting Euhemerism.

In the second chapter, Roubekas outlines the true innovation of Euhemerus’ theory in comparison with Xenophanes’, Democritus’, Prodicus’, and Critias’ (or Euripides’) theories about the origins of religion. Much less attention is paid to Aristotle's and Plato's theological thinking, which is a pity, since they argued that celestial bodies are divine. In the third chapter, the intellectual agenda of our sources for Euhemerus’ theory is discussed and a clarification is offered of how exactly each distorts Euhemerism in order to fit with the author's own intellectual agenda. The merit of Roubekas’ approach is his extreme scepticism regarding the reliability of our sources for Euhemerus, but he is overly confident about the possibility of distilling its true core and nature. For instance, Lactantius (and probably also Ennius, his source) represents Euhemerism as a theory primarily about the posthumous deification of kings. Diodorus in his fifth book does not mention Euhemerus’ distinction between celestial and earthly gods at all. This is only treated in the sixth book – if Eusebius, its compiler, is representing the content of Diodorus faithfully. What clearly emerges from the discussion of the sources is that Euhemerus’ first translator and compiler already held astoundingly diverging views about what really represents the core of Euhemerus’ theory.

The plot thickens in the fourth chapter, where the question of Euhemerus’ atheism is tackled. Those authors who charged Euhemerus with atheism (Cicero, Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus) clearly saw the divinization of mortals as the core of his theory. Roubekas now turns to defending the ‘true’ Euhemerism from its detractors, but misses the opportunity to discuss the exact wording of the passages he quotes: Plutarch represents Euhemerus as a figure of worldwide notoriety (and hence fame) and, by doing so, constructs a clear parallel between the author and his hero, Zeus. Sextus claims that Euhemerus’ nickname was atheos (‘godless’) and quotes directly Callimachus’ condemnation of Euhemerus (Iambus 1.10–11). Both the Callimachean passage and the nickname atheos imply a relatively early consensus in understanding Euhemerus’ script as primarily concerned with the earthly divinities.

What I found most fascinating about this book was the initial research question: How and under what circumstances is Euhemerism represented, changed, and modified from antiquity to the present day? Unfortunately, in the course of the book this question morphs into: Who is right and who is wrong about Euhemerus? Roubekas insists on the celestial gods as essential for Euhemerus’ theory, but, as we have seen, his first readers and compilers did not see things this way. It is no surprise that the reductive view of Euhemerus’ ideas, namely, the story about the earthly gods, then becomes the focal point in the Christian polemics, and persists until the modern age, as Roubekas demonstrates in the last three chapters. His insistence on the correct and incorrect Euhemerism hinders him from asking the truly fascinating question here: What was it in the original script that allowed for such a breath of interpretations? If Euhemerus’ books truly were a theory of religion, why did he provide them with the utopian and fantastical framework? In general, very little attention is paid to the narrative frame of the Sacred Inscription – the subchapter on ‘Euhemerus’ Irony’ is five pages long and underwhelming. Surely the utopian framework must have played some role in opening this work to such a wide range of early interpretations.

Interpretation of a specific kind, namely interpretatio Graeca, is also the main focus of Robert Parker's new book.Footnote ⁴ This is the first book-length study about the way in which Greeks created analogies between their own and non-Greek divinities. This phenomenon is as old as Greek literature, since already in the Iliad the Greeks and the Trojans worship the same gods. Parker's focus is on the divine names, and it is through the study of the names that he provides a general investigation of the interaction between Greek religion and other religious systems of the Mediterranean, with occasional instructive excursions into the Roman religious world. This is not an easy read (even though the book appears in the ‘Sather Classical Lectures’ series and originated in three Sather lectures that Parker delivered in the spring of 2013), but the author's unsurpassed expertize in Greek religion and astonishing command of all kinds of textual evidence, and particularly of inscriptions, renders it richly rewarding. Parker's meticulous and cautious handling of evidence is as legendary as it is enlightening, even if his method renders some of his work impossible to summarize.

The first chapter lays the foundations for the study and discusses the names and the epithets of Greek gods and heroes. Some general conclusions: gods’ and heroes’ names are essentially different from mortals', since mortal names were comprehensible whereas divine ones were opaque. Heroes lacked epithets, and those who did acquire them were upgraded to divinities. The language of epithets in literature was distinct from that of the prose dedications, and literary ‘respect’ epithets initially do not appear in dedications. Parker has very interesting things to say about Usener's Sondergötter theory (18–25), which he argues can be useful to think with (provided one abandons its evolutionary framework and adopts a hierarchical contrast between opaque and transparent divine names instead).

The second chapter (Interpretatio) opens with a discussion of Tacitus’ passage from Germania 43.4, which gave this phenomenon its name. Writing about the tribe Naharvali, Tacitus remarks: deos interpretatione Romana Castora Pollucemque memorant…ea vis numini, nomen Alcis (‘they call the gods according to the Roman interpretation Castor and Pollux…that is their efficacy, but the name is Alci/Alcis’). Parker provides an outline of the process of transferring names of deities in the second-millennium Mediterranean world and then turns to the Greek evidence, which starts with the earliest works of literature and can subsequently be traced through Greek dedications in non-Greek sanctuaries. In the Hellenistic period, the adoption of Greek names for the gods of non-Greeks becomes pervasive and represents ‘a crucial part of the history of what used to be called Hellenisation’ (39). What was the basis for such identifications? Unsurprisingly, similarity of function accounts for most cases of interpretatio, whereas the main obstacle is the embedding of the foreign god in the analogous divinity's wider system of family relations and myths. The three central questions – Why? Who? and With what effect? – are handled next. The theological question underlying all three is whether the people of the ancient Mediterranean world assumed that the gods were the same everywhere, but that their names were different, or whether they thought that gods were distinct, but functionally similar. Arguments in favour of each side can be found, and specific authors had their own ‘take’ on the issue. Parker concludes: ‘possibly some authors worked with a largely unconscious two-tier model whereby great gods were universal, but there also existed “local powers”, who would be resistant to interpretatio’ (61). Drawing on CSR, and specifically on the theory of cognitive dissonance, Parker concludes that it was possible for the ancients to believe that ‘the gods of different peoples are different and the same’ (62). Parker sees interpretatio as a bridge between cultures over which ideas passed and illustrates this idea with numerous examples, which leads him to conclude that the shared assumption, grounded in interpretatio, is that

The next three chapters turn to discrete sets of questions with examples ranging from the entire Mediterranean. ‘Gods of Many Nations and Their Naming in Greek: Non-Greek Naming Traditions’ focuses on the differences between the Greek and non-Greek divine names and epithets, and, relatedly, on the way that the Greeks coped with those differences. Some names were adopted into Greek with no change (Isis, Men, Mithras, etc.), some divinities acquired a double name (Zeus Dolichenos, etc.), some remained nameless, while others were named using Greek words which are otherwise unattested as divine names (Hosios, Dikaios). Most frequently, the foreign divinity was adopted by adding a local specification to an old Greek theonym. ‘Supreme, Ancestral, and Personal Gods’ turns to naming practices even more foreign to the Greek religious sensitivities: the Anatolian custom of accompanying the name of the god with the name of a human individual; the Semitic references to ‘my, your, our, their god(s)’; the Near Eastern supreme gods, who become hagios, hypsistos, megistos, or ouranios in Greek. ‘Ad Maiorem Deorum Gloriam: The Growth of Praise Epithets’ charts the emergence of praise epithets as part of the divine name (a phenomenon which is attested in Greek poetry, but not in prose dedicatory inscriptions of the archaic and classical periods). Parker discusses the most common praise epithets and their possible origins: hagios (Semitic), kyrios (common in Syria, Egypt, Thrace, and Anatolia), megas/megistos (uncertain influence), epēkoos, ‘who listens’ (Egyptian). These tend to be attested in the Greek East, whereas in Greece there arises the new tendency to introduce the poetic epithets in the language of cult, or to develop new, elaborate, but Greek epithets for old gods. The cults of Isis and Sarapis are singled out as the channels for spreading the idea of unlimited divine power and, relatedly, for influencing the Greek language or praise.

In the final chapter, Parker turns to the Hellenistic Delos, where archaeologists have discovered some fifteen genuinely oriental sanctuaries, concluding that, even though this was a place where individuals worshipped gods from many different cultures, there was no attempt to blend those with similar functions into one divinity. A general conclusion is followed by several appendices (on the epithet Ouranios; translated theophoric names; interpretatio in India; some non-Greek theonyms in Anatolia; Thasian Herakles; epithets in bilingual texts; divine and human names juxtaposed; the cults of Hellenistic colonies). Every scholar even tangentially interested in the religious life of the ancient Mediterranean should have this book on the shelf.

Similar in scope, but focusing on one particular religious phenomenon – incubation – is the two-volume magnum opus by Gil Renberg.Footnote ⁵ This is the first comprehensive study of incubation as a ritual for divination and/or healing as practised in specific sanctuaries in the ancient Mediterranean. The aim of the book is to analyse the evidence for all sanctuaries where incubation was practised, focusing on the particularities of the local ritual procedure, and, in the second step, to clarify the variations in the incubation procedure from cult to cult. The first chapter outlines the aim, scope, and methodology; the second looks into the early development of incubation in the ancient Near East and discusses evidence for Babylonian, Hittite, Assyrian, Mari, and Israelite divination practices. Renberg generally agrees with the view that Greek divination was influenced by the Near Eastern practices as far as the concept of sleeping in the sanctuary goes, but stresses that the Greek pre-incubation rituals are more in keeping with traditional Greek religion. Analysis of incubation in Egypt breaks new ground insofar as Renberg is able to demonstrate that Greeks did not introduce the incubation rituals to Egypt. He presents new unpublished Egyptian evidence from the sixth century bce that pre-dates the sources for therapeutic incubation in Greece (this may have been a private ritual). Nevertheless, temple incubation as a popular practice coincided with the Hellenization of Egypt.

Turning to Greece, Renberg discusses early evidence, which suggests that, initially, incubation was predominantly divinatory in nature. The two-chapter introduction sets the scene for the detailed investigations of Greek cult practices, which take up the next three chapters: cults of Asclepius (Chapter 3); Amphiaraos and other divinities associated with therapeutic and, occasionally, divinatory incubation (Chapter 4); and Greek cults predominantly associated with divinatory incubation (Chapter 5), where Renberg first returns to Amphiaraos and then proceeds to discuss a host of lesser-known but fascinating oracular shrines associated with the mythic heroes and the dead. The third part of the first volume is on the Egyptian and Greco-Egyptian cults: Isis and Sarapis (Chapter 6); cults from the Saqqâra temple complexes (Osorapis, Isis, Imhotep, Thoth) (Chapter 7); the cults of Amenhotep and Imhotep at Deir el-Bahari and Thebes (Chapter 8); and other, less well-attested sites of incubation in Egypt (Chapter 9). Owing to the paucity of evidence, it is often difficult to establish what the practice of incubation actually entailed and what ritual steps were taken in the Egyptian sanctuaries discussed in Chapters 7–9. Nevertheless, Renberg is able to demonstrate just how widespread the incubation practice eventually became in Hellenistic Egypt. The second volume is entirely dedicated to seventeen appendices, a massive bibliography (107 pages), and several indices, which greatly facilitate the navigation through this somewhat daunting work. Especially useful among the appendices are an outline of oracles mistakenly associated with incubation (Appendix 1), a study of oracular activity through epiphanies and Egyptian voice oracles (Appendix 2), two catalogues of incubation reliefs (Appendices 8–9), and a discussion of incubation in late antique Christianity (Appendix 16).

Renberg states his cases with clarity and is evidently very well informed, but I do find his footnotes (many stretching over two pages and occasionally swallowing the main text) over-indulgent at times. The way that material is organized raises some questions: it is not entirely clear why Renberg separates fertility problems from general health crises and treats them separately in Appendix 3; the cult of Amphiaraos is treated in two separate chapters and in Appendix 10. Nevertheless, this is an extremely useful and comprehensive study and will be a must-read for those interested in incubation in the ancient world. The author should be applauded for producing an exhaustive treatment of an important religious phenomenon in the cultures of the ancient Mediterranean, which discusses and evaluates evidence ranging from the third millennium bc until late antiquity.

Turning from lived religion to discourse about myth, the research network Polymnia, whose aim is the study of mythography from antiquity to the seventeenth century, has launched an online journal and organized several conferences.Footnote ⁶ Lire les mythes is an edited volume that arose from three colloquia that Polymnia members organized in 2011.Footnote ⁷ The volume charts the mythographical tradition from antiquity to the Renaissance. A substantial introduction by all four editors outlines the method of their approach to mythography and singles out authority and legitimacy as the focal points of research on mythographical writing. They provide an outline of the major authors of the genre, their use by commentators and lexicographers, and their reception in medieval and Renaissance authors. The individual contributions are chronologically arranged and cover Hekataios, Pherekydes, Hellanikos (Fowler), Palaiphatos (Zuker), Parthenios of Nicaea (Voisin), Hyginus (Martinho), Cornutus (Zucker), Ps.-Plutarch's On the Names of Rivers (Delattre), mythography in Servius’ commentary on Virgil's Eclogues (Deremetz), the Third Vatican Mythographer (Besson), the Vulgate commentary on Ovid's Metamorphoses (Coulson), Conrad of Mure's Fabularius (Tilliette), Boccaccio's Genealogy of the Gods (Álvarez Morán and Iglesias Montiel), and Natale Conti's Mythologiae (Graziani). The volume's bibliography opens with a very useful overview of sources for the study of mythography, with information about standard editions of individual authors, including those from the medieval and Renaissance periods, which are less familiar to Classicists but played a vital role in the transmission and dissemination of ancient mythography. Two indices (nominum and locorum) complete the volume. This is an extremely useful and illuminating book with substantial and informative contributions. It provides insight not only into the way in which mythological lore was transmitted from antiquity to the Renaissance, but also into the manifold interpretations and uses of ancient myth in pre-modern Europe.