02 - Difficulties of Deity

During the first two years of his reign the Roman mob indulged the emperor Gaius Caligula just as the Roman legions had when he was a child during his father’s wars. His outrageous whims were regarded by the plebes as the charming fancies of a spoiled only child. He’d barely assumed the throne when he began to display his longing for the fantastic and extraordinary. He did everything to attract attention, except venture on the field of battle, and all his “exploits” were confined to Rome. No Caesar ever built a palace like the one Gaius Caligula built for himself on the Palatine hill. The modest residence of his predecessor was completely eclipsed by the vastness of the new Caesar’s edifice. With its endless rotundas, basilicas, arches and windows, it took up a quarter of a mile of frontage on the northern edge of the Palatine. He pulled down the famous homes of distinguished men of the past, such as Cicero and Crassus, and even removed the sacred altars of the Vestal Virgins from his path. He had a bridge built from his palace across to the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline hill so that he could visit his “brother” god without having to climb down the side of the Palatine and up the side of the Capitoline like some ordinary mortal.

Far from begrudging him these fancies, the masses were delighted by them. They continued to applaud even when he showed obvious signs of lunacy. He once ordered that all grain ships, which normally brought wheat from Asia and Africa, be gathered side by side in the port of Baia, so that they formed a pontoon bridge on the water from Baia to Puteoli, a distance of three and a half miles, so that he could drive his chariot across the sea. The result of this insanity was a famine in the city of Rome, which depended on the provinces for its supplies. But because the Roman mob was at least as hungry for circuses as it was for bread, they came out with their empty bellies to enjoy the remarkable spectacle of a Caesar driving his wild horses over the sea.

By the time the Senators realize what calamities they’d brought on the country by their spineless indulgence of the young prince, it was too late. They couldn’t stop the process they’d set in motion. Thus they went on competing with each other to win the favor of a ruler who was driving Rome and the empire to ruin. Not trusting each other, they continued to worship the “deity”, and to feed him with gifts. The provinces were squeezed dry so that Caligula could fulfill his wild fancies.


Long lines of deputations, consisting of the most prominent citizens and the priestly hierarchy of the various provinces, waited to prostrate themselves before the new god, and to bring him their offerings. It was shortly after the palace was finished. The priests of the Egyptian goddess Isis, in their long, hornlike headgear, and short aprons, had just finished depositing their offerings, and a group of priests from Ephesus had just entered to worship the new deity.

Now Caligula had decided that it would be fun to appear before each deputation in the guise of its god. The actor Appelus was helping the imperial buffoon with the makeup, and Helicon, the drunk Egyptian priest, was teaching him the mysteries of the various deities. They were joined by Apion, the Greek grammarian from Egypt, who’d come to Rome at the head of the delegation bearing complaints against the Jews. So between each deputation, Caligula was changing costumes like a cheap actor in the circus. He wore a golden beard to look like Zeus for a Greek deputation, and he put on the female garments of Isis, for the benefit of the Egyptian delegation.

Now he was being dressed in a stiff costume of hammered silver, transforming him into Artemis of Ephesus. The costume was very uncomfortable. The top consisted of many breasts that swung against his body and bruised his chest. They weren’t soft, like a woman’s flesh. They were metallic globes. His lower half was tightly encased in a narrow silver skirt that pressed on his thighs and hindered motion in his legs, so that he could neither sit down nor bend over. He had to stand there like an image poured into one mass of metal. But Caligula took his duties as a god very seriously. No discomfort was great enough to prevent him from discharging his high obligations.

Of all the costumes Caligula would wear, perhaps this Artemis was the most difficult and exacting. It wasn’t just the costume itself. Artemis was a great goddess of many mysteries and secret words. Her legs were engraved with mysterious signs that only her priests could read, but which Caligula had to learn to properly fulfill the role. Helicon instructed his master-god in the content of the mysterious inscriptions.

“Oh, great god Gaius! Know that when Artemis moves her many mother-breasts, she causes the milk of her divine desire to flow into those who behold and worship her. And if Artemis can move her worshippers to such ecstasies of passion, how much more can you, incomparable god? Fill the breasts of Artemis with your virile strength, and move them mightily. Let those who behold you be driven into madness of lust, for you are both man and woman. You are the giver of passion, like Venus.”

While Helicon taught Caligula the inner secrets of the goddess, Appelus instructed him in the matter of deportment.

“O mighty god, Gaius Caesar, who has come down from heaven to bless us with your glorious form! What goddess can compare to you in graciousness and in the tenderness of your smile? If your divinity will indeed condescend to bestow its presence on the pious pilgrims of Ephesus, you will surely rouse to jealousy the great and proud goddess who waits for them at home. For the pious Ephesians, your smile will be ample reward after the long and painful journey they have made to bow down before you. Smile, god Gaius, hold your hands on your hips, for even as you are mightier in manhood than Zeus and Jupiter, so you are more alluring in womanhood than Venus. For like the supreme gods, you are hermaphroditic. Smile, great god Gaius, smile!”

But Apion outdid both of them in his flattery.

“Who dares to mention Jupiter in the same breath with the god Gaius?” he asked. “The gods lie before you silent, dumb and terrified. I’ve traveled much great god. Nowhere have I seen the image of a god that approaches you in manhood, or of a goddess who approaches you in beauty. Jupiter is gray with envy, and Aphrodite’s head has sunk down on her breast. As soon as the subjects of your provinces see your likeness, they cut off the heads of gods and goddesses and place your image on their shoulders. The women of the empire sleep with the image of your divine body in their arms. The men must disguise themselves in your image when they desire their wives’ favor. Ah, that Homer were alive today, to sing of your deity, of the power of your muscular arms, and the softness and sweetness of your hips! In all the temples of your empire, except one, your statue stands as an ornament. And that one blasphemy is committed by the Jews.”

Suddenly Apion noticed that Gaius’ face had darkened. His narrow forehead was wrinkled, and his eyes had turned into slits. Everyone there seemed disturbed, and the little Greek became fearful.

Apion was a shriveled, undersized figure of a man, resembling a raisin left out in the sun too long. He was a master not only of many languages, but also of the nuances of gestures and grimaces in those languages, and he realized that his calculated accusation had somehow missed its mark. He’d hit a sore spot in Gaius, but he didn’t know where. Surely it couldn’t have been his remark against the Jews. He’d also been careful to start with a long and highly seasoned introduction of flattery. He’d put Gaius above Zeus and Jupiter. What more could he have said? In desperation, he returned to his most beloved subject, the great poet, Homer, lamenting Homer’s absence at this time in history. If the singer of the Odyssey could be reawakened from his slumbers. . . .

Both Helicon and Appelus tried to signal the perspiring little Greek to stop talking about Homer, but before he undersood their signals, the Caesar-god himself burst into speech.

“Hold your tongue, you foul little toad!”

And Gaius’ cold blue eyes seem to Appelus to flash like swords.

“You dare choose that wretched, limping, rhymester they call Homer to sing of my deeds and my divinity, My beloved horse, Incitatus, has more poetry in the music of his neighing, than your Homers and Virgils! Do not mention their names if you would not have the skies darkened with my thunderstorms!”

Apion’s face went gray. His dull little eyes sank deeper into his head, and his heart beat furiously, for he knew he was standing on the brink of the abyss. Instinctively he grasped for something, and, taking his cue from Caesar’s mention of his beloved horse, he said, “O mighty god! What mortal can compare to deity, even when that deity takes on the form of an animal? How wise of you to make your great Incitatus one of your priests, to bring before you the prayers of all horses. How profound is your wisdom, Caesar, in making Incitatus a Senator of Rome. Surely he is entitled to that position, for he represents all horses in the Senate. But he is more than Senator and priest. He is divine, too. Incitatus is the god of horses even as you, great Gaius, are the god of men.”

Soothed by the praise of his beloved horse, Caesar assumed his familiar expression of satisfied pride, the look that covered his inner emptiness. Apion pressed forward, not wanting to lose the advantage, and returned to the purpose of his mission, the punishment of the Jews.

“Mighty god! What joy came on the nations when they learned of your divinity! In Egypt, we put our goddess Isis in second place, to make room for you. No one anywhere questions your deity. None, I say, except the Jews. Oh, who can wipe out the disgrace of their blasphemy and their impiety? Hear, O god, of the desecration they’ve committed against you. When we brought your divine image to their great synagogue of Alexandria along with a he-goat and a slaughtered swine, as an offering for you, the Jewish rabble came out against us and fell on your innocent worshippers. For three days and three nights they rioted and slaughtered. And whom do they prefer above you, great Caesar? Hear me, O god. There is a place in their temple they call the Holy of Holies. No one is allowed to enter it except their High Priest. Do you know that he prays to an ass’s head that hangs on the wall of their Holy of Holies. This they worship! This they prefer to you!”

“An ass’s head?” murmured Caesar in astonishment. “I thought their God was neither to be seen nor heard.”

“It’s just like he says, great Caesar!” declared Helicon, the expert in religious mysteries. “O mighty god, it’s time that you, the elder brother of Jupiter, bestow your deity on the Jews, too. Command them to put an end to their barbarous idolatry. Great Caesar, the God of the Jews envies you. He dreads your deity and has instructed the Jews to ignore you. Show this Jewish God how much mightier you are than He. Command the Jews to place your statue in the Temple of Jerusalem.”

Thus Helicon seconded the petition of Apion. And Caligula, disguised in his Artemis role, sweating under the weight of her robes, and suffering under the impact of the swinging, metallic globes, listened, and was aroused. This was a challenge to his delusions of deity. He issued an order to Petronius, Proconsul of Syria, concerning the Temple in Jerusalem.

* * * * *

For months the Jewish delegation pleaded in vain to be admitted to Caesar’s presence, lingering at the doors of his palaces, and following him whenever he came out. Finally wearying of their persistency, Caligula admitted them. The meeting took place at the same time that he was meeting with architects, gardeners and other specialists submitting plans to make changes in the layout of his mother’s gardens on the banks of the Tiber. Caligula was often preoccupied with building projects rather than running the government. In fact, his two biggest diversions, his affairs as a deity, and the construction of his many building projects, kept him preoccupied most of the time. On occasion, however, he did mange to squeeze in a little government business.

While Caligula was studying the plans, Philo reminded him that the great Julius Caesar had confirmed their rights, and that both Augustus and Caligula’s predecessor Tiberius had repeated that confirmation. He discussed their contributions to the commerce and industry of Alexandria, and their share in its schools. But Caesar didn’t seem to be listening. He was focused on the plans for a great hanging garden that would be supported on pillars of wood, a garden that would seem to be floating in the air, as was altogether becoming for the Caesar-god.

Suddenly Caligula interrupted the leader of the deputation. “But tell me, why won’t you little Jews eat swine meat?”

“Our laws have forbidden it from the most ancient times. This practice of ours does no harm to anyone – certainly it does none to the swine,” answered Philo.

This was a little too daring. One did not jest with Caesar. Fortunately, he’d paid no attention to the reply. He’d immediately plunged into a discussion of the hanging garden.

Just when it seemed he’d completely forgotten the presence of the delegation, he blurted out another question, this time in the pouting playfulness of a spoiled child, “But tell me, why won’t you little Jews offer me sacrifice?”

Then turning pale with rage, he squealed, “Am I not god enough for you? All the nations recognize my deity, except you!”

Philo decided that his only option was courage. So he answered, “The Alexandrians also worship animals, like the crocodile and the cat. But we’re not like the Egyptians. We received the tradition of the one living God from our fathers. And yet there are three times when we did bring sacrifices on your behalf. When you were proclaimed Caesar, when you were cured of your sickness, and when you returned in triumph from your expeditions to Germany and Britain. On each of these occasions we offered up sacrifices in our Temple for your peace and prosperity.”

“Yes, sacrifices for me, but not sacrifices to me. You offer sacrifices to a God you can neither see nor hear. What has he ever done? Has he conquered the Germans? Or the Britons? Where are his victories? You prefer such a god to me?”

For the moment Caligula forgot his engineers, architects and gardeners. He drew himself up to his full, though not very impressive, height.

“You blasphemers and unbelievers! How long will you continue in your stiff-necked obstinacy against my deity? And to think that Agrippa is my dearest friend, bound to me by many gifts and by the memory of our childhood years. Hear me, you Jews! Do not drive me too far!”

Turning to his own entourage, he said with unexpected pathos, “I still believe these men are not guilty. I pity them, for they are foolish rather than wicked.”

With that he signaled for the withdrawal of the delegation, and the Jews left without having their petition even considered.


A few weeks later Philo and his companions were entering Puteoli hoping for another meeting with Caesar. They were met by a Jew from Palestine, whose bulging eyes seemed about to leave their sockets and whose face was as yellow as ancient parchment. His clothes were stained and tattered, like those of a man who had not yet washed himself after a long journey. He told them he’d just arrived from Palestine, at the head of a delegation of Palestinian Jews. He brought news with him, the like of which had not been heard by any generation of Jews since the beginning of the world. Caligula had dared to do what no other Caesar had even dreamed of. He had ordered his image to be placed in the Holy of Holies in Jerusalem, and he’d commanded the Syrian Proconsul to occupy Acco with an armed force, ready to descend on Jerusalem if they did not obey.