- [Narrator] Ancient Rome was a melting pot of people,
cultures, and beliefs from all corners of its vast empire.
These incomers brought their Pagan gods with them
and they were absorbed into the Roman pantheon.
Some of them we know and are familiar with,
but some less so, and one in particular
is stranger than fiction.
If I told you that Romans once worshiped a snake puppet,
then you might think this is no more than a legend.
Well, it could be true,
but the story behind it is even more extraordinary.
(dramatic music) Meet Glycon, the snake god.
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(mysterious music) Glycon was a snake god with
ancient roots, possibly originating as a cult in Macedonia,
where similar snake cults had existed for centuries.
The Macedonians believed snakes
had magical powers relating to fertility
and had a rich mythology on this subject.
For example, the story of Olympia's impregnation
by Zeus disguised as a serpent.
In 20 BCE, Glycon was referred to by the Roman poet Horace.
In his epistle one to Maecenas,
in his first book of epistles,
"You despair of the muscles of the invincible Glycon."
However, the satirist Lucian also provides
literary reference to the deity.
Lucian claimed Glycon was created in the mid second century
CE by the Greek prophet Alexander of Abonoteichos
in ancient Pontus, now modern Turkey.
By his account, titled Alexander: The False Prophet,
Alexander was a kind of medicine man and a trickster.
As he went about his travels, parting the gullible
from money, he found himself in Macedonia
and happened upon buying a tame snake.
Lucian says that a scoundrel can profit from fear and hope,
and it apparently took little for Alexander
to see an opportunity to fleece the superstitious
by connecting their love of fortune telling and his serpent.
He thus set up as an oracle, but an unscrupulous one.
As Alexander made his way back to Abonoteichos,
he stopped at Chelcedon to bury tablets under the temple
of Apollo, stating that Asclepius would soon visit
Abonoteichos with his father Apollo.
Of course, Asclepius was the god of medical arts,
and you won't be surprised to learn either
that the tablets were duly discovered,
and in quick succession, the news transported to Pontus,
whereby the people were impressed enough
to construct a temple.
The stage was set for Alexander to enter the town,
suitably attired in a white cloak and carrying a scimitar,
like that of Perseus, supported by false oracles.
He set about crafting a serpent head from linen,
gave it human-like expressions, and fitted it and its tongue
with a horsehair mechanism to control movement.
Two snakes, one false and one true, were ready to trap
an audience for the bidding of their master.
Next, he buried a hollowed-out goose egg in the new
temple foundations, into which he carefully hid the snake
before foretelling the public in their marketplace
of the coming of a new incarnation of Asclepius.
When the people gathered at noon, when the incarnation
was supposed to occur, Alexander produced the egg
and sliced it open, revealing the snake within
to the astonishment of his audience,
who hailed the god and offered prayers.
He then withdrew to a house with a stream of people
following in anticipation. (hissing)
What good fortune this new idol would bestow!
His second act was divine.
He sat upon a chair in a darkened room with a snake
draped across his body, its head expertly hidden
in the folds of his clothes.
That is to say, the head of the real snake.
For the deception was sealed by displaying the puppet head
on the other side of his body before the people, as if
it were one with the writhing body of Alexander's serpent,
a monstrous god, half man, half beast.
Glycon, or should we say, Alexander, had captured his prey.
Those eager to witness this incredible miracle
were shepherded through the exhibition like sheep
and duly fleeced of their offerings.
The name of Glycon, and, in turn, his flock of adherents
spread far and wide.
Glycon offered his new devotees prophecies, in exchange,
of course, for monetary donations administered by Alexander.
He had mastered the art of removing wax seals flawlessly
from letters left in the temple only for the eyes
of the divinity and cunningly presented Glycon's omens
to the amazement of the recipient.
This was artfully achieved by having a trusted attendant
blow words, as if they were hisses, from a hidden
contraption of wind pipes that would issue forth,
seemingly in unison, from Glycon's head,
operated by Alexander.
His predictions were, naturally, just vague enough in time
and specifics so as to gift the recipient a plausible outcome
and allow an entrant to Glycon's temple to exit empty-handed
but content with his head full of meaningless soothsaying.
The medicine man of Abonoteichos had shed his skin
to become little more than a glorified
snake oil salesman, selling miracles to the masses.
As with previous Macedonian snake cults,
fertility was also a focus of worship at the temple.
Barren women would bring offerings to Glycon
in hopes of becoming pregnant.
According to Lucian, Alexander had less magical ways
of causing pregnancy among his flock as well.
By 160 CE, the worship of Glycon had spread
far beyond the Aegean.
An inscription from Antioch of that date records a slogan.
"Glycon, protect us from the plague cloud."
That is consistent with the description we have from Lucian.
Also in that year, the governor of Asia,
Publius Mummius Sisenna Rutilianus,
declared himself protector of Glycon's oracle.
The governor later married Alexander's daughter.
According to Lucian, another roman governor of Cappadocia
was lead by Glycon's oracle to his death in Armenia.
And even the emperor himself was not immune to the cult.
Marcus Aurelius sought prophecies from Alexander
and his snake god.
With such endorsement by the ruling classes,
coupled with pre-existing superstitions of serpents
as possessing healing powers, the cult of Glycon likely
found no shortage of converts and adherents
in the new areas of the Roman world.
Meanwhile, Abonoteichos, a small fishing village before
the arrival of the cult, became an important town
and accepted another name, Ionopolis.
As Glycon's fame spread west to Rome,
so did Alexander's schemes in equal measure.
Not content with his dealings in the temple,
he devised a stratagem whereby he supplemented his income
by profiting from the political secrets foolishly
entrusted to Glycon by rich Roman aristocrats
seeking an advantage in fortune.
Instead, they became the unwilling
and malleable patrons of Alexander.
Money can go to a man's head,
and with Alexander's prosperity,
he began to overreach himself with his machinations.
Not only did he have a retinue of attendants to pay off,
but Glycon's prophecies were having more consequential
outcomes for court officials, and even the legions
that vainly relied on them.
Enemies were made of those that didn't accept Alexander's
entreaties that they had misinterpreted Glycon's oracles.
Persons suspicious of the authenticity of this god
soon realized that, by dropping hints to Glycon's
attendants as to the character and business of those
seeking his wisdom, an outcome would be achieved
remarkably unrelated to the actual nature of the text hidden
under seal, particularly those that were carefully fixed
in anticipation of tampering.
While the cult gradually lost followers after the death
of its leader in circa 170 CE, it survived for at least
a hundred years thereafter due to the prominence
of snake cults as healing divinities in the Mediterranean,
with Alexander being incorporated into its mythology
as a grandson of Asclepius.
As the contemporary works of Lucian are the primary
written reference to Glycon, its cult, and their activities,
what became of them exactly is unclear
following the death of Alexander of Abonoteichos
due to lack of written record.
What we do know, however, is that at least a hundred years
following Alexander's death, a new Glycon cult began
to spread its influence along areas adjacent to the Danube,
with archaeological finds such as the statue,
discovered in Tomi, modern day Constanta in Romania,
being interpreted as some to indicate the presence
of a large public cult in the city.
Lucian was scathing in his opinion of the cult,
with Glycon merely a hand puppet and Alexander
the puppet-master, though keep in mind that Lucian
the rhetorician built a career on satire and knew the art
of telling a story to entertain and amuse an audience.
While Lucian's account of Glycon as a hoax and
the enterprise of a confidence trickster may not be
completely true or accurate, we do know that Glycon
was worshiped from the Danube to the Euphrates,
beginning in the reign of Antoninus Pius
and continuing into the third century.
Official Roman coins were struck in honor of Glycon,
confirming his cult was both thriving and popular.