SOURCE: H. N. Wethered, "Of Magic and Religion," in The Mind of the Ancient World: A Consideration of Pliny's Natural History, Longmans Green and Co., 1937, pp. 156-72.

[In the following excerpt, Wethered uses extensive quotes from Natural History to highlight Pliny's contempt for what he considered superstition and to examine his beliefs regarding the "philosophical aspect of religion."]

Pliny was no atheist. He believed in a power that dealt justly with evil-doers, and followed Aristotle in visualising Nature as a spirit of divine energy operating in the world—natura naturans, a principle of Nature creating nature. Therefore the history, which he undertook, in his estimation expressed the highest achievement open to the human understanding. Pliny's beliefs as a Stoic led him not so much to explain how creation came about as to describe the results attained. There was also the strong ethical position of Stoicism which impelled him to speak of God as a Principle, since he regarded it as an admission of man's weakness to assign to Him a form or image. He sums up his creed in these words: "Whoever He be and in what part soever resident, is all sense, all sight, all hearing, all life, all soul, all within Himself."

Thus it was only to be expected that the mass of superstition of the ancient world left him cold and often contemptuous. Frail and crazy men, he urged, had always worshipped any number of gods, choosing to honour only those of whom they stood most in need. He was prepared to accept only so much as fitted in with his scientific ideas. The rest is dismissed—the crude view of a numerous family of gods and goddesses, agitated by human passions, contracting marriages, having children, being aged or young, black in complexion (an unexpected association, undoubtedly derived from African sources which left traces in Europe), winged, or lame, or hatched of eggs—"These beliefs, I say, are mere fooleries, little better than childish toys. Whereas in very truth a god unto a man is he that helps a man: and this is the true and direct pathway to everlasting glory".

Roman thought was essentially tolerant. Matters of opinion were taken at their face value and polemics rarely indulged in, extreme views being avoided so far as possible as evidences of unbalanced fanaticism. Beneath the surface of Pliny's writings is the sense of the inevitable, a philosophy which taught him to accept the world with its faults, failures and astonishing wonders without enquiring too deeply into ultimate causes. His path lay in a simple application to duty which involved a life-long devotion to the State and to learning. Yet we see a glimpse of a higher understanding when he reflects that it is good, expedient and profitable to know that the gods have a care of man's estate, and "that the vengeance and punishment of malefactors may well come late (while God is busily occupied otherwise in so huge a frame of the world) but never misses in the end". God, in the words of St. Paul, is not mocked.

False astronomical theory has been responsible for much of the magic of the ancient world. Among the Mexicans the enormous scale of human sacrifice was intended simply to supply the sun with energy sufficient to continue its duties, as if it were as necessary to stoke the sun with blood as to stoke a locomotive with coal. The primary object of wars was to obtain a sufficient number of victims.

In the Greco-Roman world the blood-lust was not carried to such an extreme pitch. The Greeks, in fact, were distinguished as a race for a comparatively harmless and poetic form of magic, since their mythology was built on essentially humane lines. Pliny says he is surprised that Homer had not more to say about magic; yet he admits that when Homer discourses of Ulysses and his adventurous travels one would think that the whole work consisted of nothing else but magic—the transformations of Proteus, the songs of the mermaids and the famous enchantresses. "As for what he relates of Lady Circe, how she wrought her feats by conjuration only and raising up infernal spirits, surely it savours of Magic art and nothing else."

Cannibalism in connection with human sacrifices was one of the worst abuses of magic, and on this point Pliny speaks authoritatively. In the 657th year after the foundation of Rome these sacrifices were forbidden by law. In France also they were stopped by Tiberius who "put down the Druids, together with all the pack of such physicians, prophets and wizards". As to Britain there is a passage (with Philemon Holland's comments) which points to the beneficial results of the Roman culture.

Truly in Britain at this day magic is highly honoured, where the people are so wholly devoted to it, with all reverence and religious observation of ceremonies, that a man would think the Persians first learnt all their Magic from them (as it appears by our old English Chronicles, which wrote of King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, and Merlin the prophet or magician). See how this Art and the practice thereof is spread over the face of the whole earth! And see how those nations [Holland instances England, Scotland and Ireland, where in old time Magic bare a great sway and witches still swarm too much] who in all other respects are far different are conformable on this one point! In which regard the benefit is inestimable, that the world has received from our Romans, for they have abolished these monstrous and abominable Arts which under the show of religion murdered men for sacrifices to please the gods; and under the colour of Physic prescribed the flesh to be eaten as most wholesome meat. [75]

Here is indicated the primary motive of cannibalism—the belief that the strength and vitality of another person, such as a stricken enemy or unfortunate victim, could be absorbed by an act of assimilation into the system.

But if cannibalism was stamped out, the revolting custom of blood-drinking remained. Miss Petowker's famous recitation was at least based on historical evidence, and the Gothic warriors in the paradise of Odin caroused on the blood of their enemies drunk from their own skulls. Pliny gives us instances of the prevalence of the same habit. Mithridates recommended the blood of the ducks of Pontus to be drunk as an infallible antidote against poison. At Egina the priestess, when about to prophesy the future, used to indulge in a draught of bull's blood before she descended into the cavern. A different kind of story was that Drusus, a tribune of the people, drank goat's blood to produce pallor, in order to throw the suspicion of being poisoned on his rival, Q. Coepio. The worst and most disgusting example of all was the drinking of the blood of the dying gladiator in the arena.

The Black Art came from the East. Nero at one time dabbled in it, under expert and royal instruction, but met with no apparent success. As his experiments proved a failure he returned to the form of religion practised at Rome. From this it seems conclusive that the power of magic broke down utterly as soon as the belief in it vanished.

There are many sorts of Magic, as Osthanes has set down in writing; for it works by the means of Water (hydromantia), Globes or Balls (sphaeromantia), Air (aeromantia), Stars (astrologia), Firelights (pyromantia), Basins (buanomantia), and Axes (axinomantia); means by which there promise the foreknowledge of things to come, also the raising up and conjuring of departed ghosts and conference with Familiars and infernal spirits.

All of these things were found out by the Emperor Nero in our days to be no better than vanities and vain illusions, and yet he was inclined to study the Magical art as assiduously as to play upon the cythern and to hear and sing tragic songs. Nor is it to be wondered at that he was given to such strange courses, having wealth and world at will and his fortune besides accompanied with many deep corruptions of the mind. But amid those many vices to which he had sold himself he had a chief desire to command the gods (forsooth) and familiar spirits, thinking that if he could attain to that, then he had climbed to the highest point and pitch of magnanimity. There was never a man who studied harder and followed an art more earnestly than he did Magic. He had enough riches and power under his hands, his wit was quick and pregnant to apprehend and learn anything, and yet he gave it over in the end; an undoubted and peremptory argument to convince the vanity of this Art, when such an one as Nero rejected it.

As to this Art-magic which Nero would so fain have learned, what might be the reason which he could not reach unto it? These Magicians are not without their shifts and means of evasion to save the credit of their Art; as, for instance, that ghosts and spirits will not appear nor yield any service to people who are freckled and full of pimples, and haply Nero was such an one. As for his limbs otherwise he had them all sound, and then besides he could choose at his good will and pleasure the set days and times fit for this practice. It was an easy matter, too, for him to meet with sheep coal black, and such as had not a speck of white or any other colour; and as to sacrificing men nothing gave him greater delight. Furthermore, he had about him Tyridates the King of Armenia, a great Magician, to give him instruction. This prince travelled to Rome all the way by land because he had a scruple and thought it unlawful (as all magicians do) either to spit into the sea or otherwise to discharge into it from men's bodies what might pollute and defile that Element. He instructed Nero in the principles of Magic, yea and admitted him to sacred feasts and solemn suppers to initiate him into the profession; but all to no purpose, for Nero could never receive at his hands the skill of this Science. Therefore we may be fully assured that it is a detestable and abominable Art, grounded on no certain rules, full of lies and vanities, for, to tell the truth, the certitude which it has in effecting anything proceeds rather from the devilish cast of poisoning practised therewith than from the Art itself of Magic. But why need any man listen to the lies which the Magicians in old time have sent abroad, when I myself in my youth have seen and heard Apion (that great and famous Grammarian) tell strange tales of the herb Cynocephalia, that it has a divine and heavenly virtue as a preservative against all poisons, charms and enchantments, but that whoever plucked it out of the ground could not escape instant death. The same Apion reported in my hearing that he had conjured up spirits to enquire of Homer what country he was born in, and from what parents he was descended; but he dared not say what answer was given. [76]

Ordinary superstitions played a large part in Roman life and certain ideas strange to the modern mind were prevalent. One curious example was the custom for priests in a time of war to try to win over the gods or goddesses of besieged cities by promising them better quarters than they had enjoyed before. "For the same reason it was never divulged abroad what god was the protector and patron of Rome for fear lest some of our enemies should try to conjure him forth and deal by us as we do by them."

Exceptionally solemn superstitions were connected with the foundation of a city—a most important affair which could not be undertaken rashly without divine guidance. A grave, or tomb of some kind, was often looked upon as a palladium, or talisman, of a city—probably a relic from an era of human sacrifice. On one occasion a man's head was discovered when the Romans were digging the foundations of Jupiter's temple on the Tarpeian rock. The senate wishing to know the significance of this strange portent sent to the wise men of Tuscany to enquire what it might mean. These experts adroitly tried to turn the incident to their own advantage by means of a trick:

Olenus Calenus (who was reputed the most famous diviner and prophet of all the Tuscans) foreseeing the great felicity it imported, intended by a subtle interrogation to translate the benefit thereof to his own native country of Tuscany. So having first described with a staff the outline of a temple on the ground before him he questioned the Roman ambassadors in this wily manner. 'Is it so, Romans, as you say? Are these your words, that there must be a temple of Jupiter here, where we have lighted on a man's head?' Unto which interrogation the Roman ambassadors, according to the instructions they have received, answered in this manner. 'No, not here in this very place, but at Rome (we say) the head was found.' Indeed, our ancient Chronicles constantly affirm that, had they not been forewarned what to say, the fortune of the Roman State and Empire had gone quite away to the Tuscans and been established among them,[77]

This device of drawing a figure on the ground with a stick was used on another occasion when a Roman senator was sent to warn an intruding king off the territory of Egypt. When the king hesitated to give a suitable answer the Roman drew a circle round him and intimated in plain terms that he should not move out of it until he had said yes or no. The threat worked.

The ordinary spells were very varied in their operation. All the pots and pans baking in a furnace would break if certain words were uttered. The oldest form of fire insurance was to write the words Averte Ignem on the walls. On the authority of Homer, Ulysses staunched his wound with a charm. M. Varro reported the virtue of certain godd words for the gout; and Casar having once had a carriage accident would never again ride in a coach without first pronouncing a charm which he used as a safeguard.

Pliny asks in despair the reason for so many of these strange customs. Why do people wish each other a Happy New Year? Why are persons with good fortunate names chosen to lead the beasts appointed for sacrifice? (Disraeli on the same principle made it a rule to avoid unlucky men.) Also, the nil nisi bonum de mortuis maxim was not primarily intended as an example of good manners, or courtesy to the departed, as we should take it to be; but it was regarded rather as the safest policy to adopt for fear of reprisals from the spirits of the dead.

How is it that in mentioning those that are dead we protest that we have no wish to disquiet their ghosts or to say anything prejudicial to their good name and memorial?

If there is nothing in words, I would fain know why we have such an opinion of odd numbers, believing that they are more effectual than the even—a matter, I may tell you, of great consequence in the critical days of fevers?

In the gathering of our first fruits, be they Pears, Apples or Figs why do we say, 'This is old, God send us new'?

What moves us to wish health and say 'God help, or bless, when one sneezes? Even Tiberius Cesar, who otherwise was known for a grim sir, and the most unsociable and melancholy man in the world, required in that manner to be saluted and wished well to, whenever he sneezed, though he were mounted in his chariot. Some salute the party ceremoniously by name and think there is a great point of religion in that.[78]

Ears tingling, when people in our absence are talking of us, was a Roman superstition. There is no mention of saying "Bo" to a goose; but if you said "Duo" to a serpent it would be still and quiet and never shoot forth its sting. Here is a curious belief we have also inherited—known to us as an "angel passing":

See how ceremonious those persons were and what precise usages they instituted in the belief that in all our affairs and actions, and at all times, the divine power of God was present and that by these means they pacified them for all our sins and vices. It has been remarked that often the table is hushed and no word heard from one end to the other when there is an even number present. What does this silence presage? Surely that everyone is in danger of losing or impairing his credit, good name and reputation.[79]

Special precautions were taken about paring the nails on certain days. Hair should be cut only on the seventeenth or twenty-ninth day after the change of the moon. The peasant women had to be careful about spinning as they walked in the streets for fear of prejudicing the wheat harvest. Charms existed against hail-storms, burnings, scaldings and so many other things that Pliny confesses he is really abashed and ashamed to put them down in writing.

Perhaps the most interesting passage of all is a reference to the Roman ceremonies. The insistence on precise ritual is emphasised.

If a beast is killed without a set form of prayers it is to no purpose and held unlawful. Likewise, if these invocations are omitted when a man seeks an Oracle and would be directed in the wills of gods by beasts' bowels or otherwise, the gods would be displeased. Moreover, the words used in entreating something at their hands run in one form: exorcisms to divert their ire and to turn away some imminent plagues are framed after another sort: also there are proper terms of address serving for meditation and contemplation.

We see, too, how our highest magistrates use a preamble of certain set prayers. So strict and precise are people in this point about divine service that for fear lest some words should be left out or pronounced out of order, a prompter is appointed purposely to read the same before the priest, out of a written book, so that he miss not a tittle. Another is also set near his elbow as a keeper to observe and mark that he fail not in any ceremony or circumstance. And a third is ordained to go before and make silence, saying to the whole assembly and congregation Favete linguis (i.e. spare your tongues and be silent); and then the flutes and hautboys begin to sound and play, to the end that nothing be heard to trouble his mind or interrupt him the while. Indeed there have been memorable examples of strange accidents and of cases where the unlucky fowls by their untoward noise have disturbed and done hurt, or some error has been committed in the prescribed prayer and exorcism; the result being that all of a sudden while the beast stood before the altar the lobe of the liver is found missing among the entrails, or the heart missing or doubled.

Now if this is received as an undoubted truth, and if we admit that the gods hear some prayers or are moved by any words, then surely we may conclude affirmatively on the main question. Certainly our ancestors have always believed and delivered such principles; yea, and that which seems most incredible, that by the power of such charms and conjurations thunder and lightning have been fetched down from above.

L. Piso reports in the first book of his Annals that Tullus Hostilius, King of Rome, was struck dead with lightning, because when he went about to call Jupiter down out of heaven by a sacrifice which King Numa was accustomed to use he had not observed exactly all the exorcisms and ceremonial words contained in those books of King Numa, but swerved somewhat from them. [80]

With regard to unlucky omens one saving remark demands attention, to the effect that it was a principle of the Augurs' discipline and learning that such omens (especially in connection with the flight, singing or feeding of birds) could not touch people who declared with conviction that they paid no attention to them and were not afraid of them. As Pliny puts it, this was "a testimony of the divine indulgence and favour of the gods in thus subjecting their secrets to our puissance". In other words, it was laid down that the efficacy of portents and signs depended on the question of how much reality people attached to them—a very comforting doctrine, he adds, with regard to human destinies.

Another aspect of Roman religion was its close association with open-air life, the recurrence of the seasons and the harvests. Great festivals celebrated the cycle of the year. The spirits of the countryside became the family deities; and Jupiter was the lord of the air in company with the gods of the Greek mythology. No oaths were taken under a roof, not even under the roof of a temple. Deep in the hearts of the Roman people religion was felt as the sense of awe inspired by a spirit-world existing in close contact with the phenomena of Nature. The trees were "the first temples of the gods". The beech was sacred to Jupiter, the laurel to Apollo, the olive to Minerva, the myrtle to Venus, the poplar to Hercules. Fauns and Nymphs held the tutelage of the woods. Paganism was the simple religion of the pagani, the peasant population, who cultivated the old forms of nature worship. An unsophisticated form of piety thus became habitual to the people, capable of cementing the family under the general beneficence of the fatherhood of the sky, the motherhood of the earth, the di agrestes and the lares familiares—all combining in a scheme at once romantic and intimate.

Taking a few phases of this somewhat intricate scheme we observe the elaborate symbolism which grew up around the things that grew out of the earth. The laurel, for example, illustrates many curious associations—religious, medical, military and cultural—connected with this most noble and sacred of trees.

The Laurel betokens peace. When a branch is held among armed enemies, it is a sign of quietness and cessation from arms. Moreover, the Romans were wont to send their missive letters adorned with Laurel when they announced good news or joyful victory. Also they garnished their lances, pikes and spears with it; and the fasces borne before grand captains and generals of the army were beautified and set out with Bay branches. With it they stick and bedeck the bosom of that most great and gracious Jupiter, as often as there is news of some late and fresh victory. And all this honour is done to the Laurel, not because it is always green, nor that it shows peace (for in both these respects the Olive is to be preferred before it) but because it is the fairest and goodliest tree that grows on the mountain Parnassus and was pleasing to Apollo. Another reason may be because it is the only plant set out of doors or brought into the house which is not blasted and smitten with lightning. It was not permitted by men in old time to pollute either Laurel or Olive in any profane use; so much so that they might not burn them on their altars when they sacrificed or offered Incense, though it were to do honour to the gods and appease their wrath and indignation. It is evident that the Bay tree leaves, by the crackling they make in the fire, seem to detest and abhor it. It cures moreover the diseases of the guts; also the lassitude and weariness of the sinews. It is reported that Tiberius used always to wear a chaplet when it thundered, for fear of being struck with lightning. Moreover, certain strange and memorable events touching the Bay tree have happened about Augustus Casar. For Livia Drusilla (who afterwards by marriage with the said Augustus became Empress and was honoured with the title of Augusta) when she was affianced to Casar chanced, as she was sitting still, to have an exceeding white Hen light into her lap (which an Eagle flying aloft let fall from on high) without any harm at all to the said pullet. Now when this lady considered well the Hen, without being astonished at so miraculous a sight, she perceived that the Hen held in her bill a Laurel branch full of Bay berries. The Wizards and Soothsayers were consulted about this wonderful occurrence and advised in the end to preserve the bird and the brood thereof; likewise to plant the branch and duly to tend and look unto it. Both these things were executed accordingly about a certain country house on the River Tiber belonging to the Caesars near the Flaminian Way, about nine miles from Rome: which house was called, Ad Gallinas, as a man would say, the Sign of the Hens. Well, the branch mightily prospered and proved afterwards to be a grove of Laurels which all came from that first stock.

In process of Time, Augustus, when he entered in Triumph into Rome, carried in his hand a branch of that Bay tree, yea, and wore a chaplet upon his head of the same; and so did all the Emperors and Cesars his successors after him. Hence arose the custom to plant again those branches of Laurel that Emperors held in their hands when they triumphed; and whole woods and groves are thus distinguished; each by their several names, and were therefore called Triumphal. And to conclude, this would be resolved and agreed upon by the way, that if a branch or slip is set, it will prosper and become a tree, although Democritus and Theophrastus make some doubt thereof. [81]

A tradition existed that certain trees had "continued time out of mind and lived infinitely". Of these immortals were a few famous Olive trees and a Myrtle that was said to guard the ghost of Scipio Africanus with the aid of a dragon living in a cave or hole underneath. Sometimes victorious generals were crowned with a chaplet of myrtle; and one particular variety was called Conjugula because of an association with wedlock. The myrtle was certainly a versatile plant or tree; for out of it were made garden arbours and from its fruit a wine, and also an oil which professed to have valuable medicinal properties. But its most striking merit was its adaptability for use as a walking stick: "if a wayfaring man that has a great journey to go on foot carry in his hand a stick or rod of the Myrtle tree, he shall never be weary, nor think his way long and tedious." An admirable idea if only it could be true.

And just as the laurel was the decorative object of veneration in the South of Europe, so in the North the mistletoe became the plant of mysticism, worshipped as a godlike thing. But it is France, not Britain, where mention is made of the ceremonies performed by the Druids. When Julius Cæsar wished to punish the inhabitants of Marseilles he ordered his soldiers to cut down a grove of Druid oaks, as the most significant means of displaying his power. So greatly did his men fear the trees that they expected their axes to glance off and wound them.

The Druids (for thus they call their Diviners, Wise men and the state of their Clergy) esteem nothing more sacred in the world than Mistletoe, and the tree whereupon it breeds, so it be on Oak. Now this you must take by the way: these Priests or Clergy chose such groves for their divine service as stood only upon Oaks and they solemnise no sacrifice nor perform any sacred ceremonies without branches and leaves thereof; so they may seem to be well named Dryidae in Greek, which signifies Oak-priests. Whatever they find growing on that tree over and above its own fruit, be it Mistletoe or anything else, they esteem it as a gift from the gods. And no marvel, for indeed Mistletoe is passing geason (rare) and hard to find on the Oak; but when they meet with it, they gather it very devoutly and with many ceremonies. First and foremost, they observe principally that the moon be just six days old, because she is thought then to be of great power and sufficient force and is not yet come to her half-light and the end of her first quarter. They call it in their language 'All Heal' (for they have an opinion that it cures all maladies) and when they are about to gather it they bring two milk-white young bullocks such as never yet drew in yoke at plough or wain, and whose heads were then, and not before, bound by the horn. Which done, the priest arrayed in a surplice or white vesture climbs up into the tree and with a golden hook or bill cuts it off, then they beneath receive it in a white soldier's cassock or coat of arms. Presently they fall to kill the beasts aforesaid for sacrifice, mumbling many orisons and praying devoutly that it will please God to bless this gift of his to the good and benefit of all those to whom he has vouchsafed to give it. Now this persuasion they have of Mistletoe thus gathered that what living creature soever (otherwise barren) do drink of it, will presently become fruitful; also, that it is a sovereign counter-poison or singular remedy against all vermin. So vain and superstitious are many nations in the world, and often times in such frivolous and foolish things as these. [82]

These beliefs were in accordance with the views of the Greek philosophers who held that trees had a soul or spirit and were possessed of sense and intelligence. From this angle of thought the fir became a tree of mourning, and a branch of it was set up at the doors of a house where a corpse lay. It was also a churchyard tree and was planted in the places where bodies were burnt.

The ash was the most magical tree of all. It was associated with witchcraft, although it is not certain whether the brooms on which witches flew came from it. The shrew-ash may have had its origin from this superstition. A shrew mouse buried alive in the trunk was said to ensure a cure for rheumatism. Pliny says that the leaves were deadly to horses and mules, but harmless to animals that chewed the cud. As to snakes, they had such an aversion that if they were put within a circle of ash leaves in any place where there was a lighted fire they would throw themselves into the fire sooner than come in contact with the leaves. Their shape seems to have some strange mystical meaning.

Trees shared with birds the power of foretelling events. Many cases, we are told, were mentioned in the old chronicles of trees falling, without wind or tempest, simply as warnings. An old elm in the grove of Juno fell at Nuceria during the wars against the Cimbrians; but as it fell on the altar of Juno it rose of its own accord and soon after put forth blossoms and flourished. From that moment the success of the Roman arms revived. Recoveries of trees in similar auspicious circumstances always meant good luck. Once a planetree fell and its trunk was squared by a carpenter; yet it rose nevertheless and recovered its former greenness and lived.

If the habit of a tree changed from better to worse—a garden olive, for example, degenerating into the wild state, or a white vine, or white fig tree growing black fruit—that was counted an unlucky sign. Here are a few other marvels:

A little before the civil war broke out between Julius Casar and Pompey the Great, an ominous sight was reported presaging no good from the territory of Cume, namely, that a great tree there sank down into the earth so deep that a very little of the top boughs was to be seen. Upon which the prophetical books of Sibylla were perused and it was found that this prodigy portended some great carnage of men and that the nearer this slaughter and execution should be to Rome, the greater would the bloodshed be.

Another wonder is when trees grow in places where they were not wont to be and which are not agreeable to their natures; as on the chapters of pillars, heads of statues or on altars. About the time of the civil war a Date tree grew out of the base or foot of a column that Casar Dictator caused to be erected there. Also at Rome, twice during the war against King Perseus, a Date tree was known to grow on the lantern or top of the Capitol temple (or, as some read, out of the head of Jupiter within the Capitol) thus foreshowing the victories and triumphs which afterwards ensued, to the great honour of the people of Rome. When this tree was overthrown by storms and tempests there sprang up in the same place a Fig tree at the time when Messala and Cassius, the two Censors, held the Quinquennial solemn sacrifices for the purging of the city of Rome: from which time Piso (a renowned Historiographer and writer of good credit) has noted that the Romans were given over to voluptuousness and sensuality, and that ever since all chastity and honest life have been exiled. But the greatest prodigy ever seen or heard happened in our age about the time that Nero the Emperor came to his unhappy end and fall; for in the Marrucine territory there was an Olive garden belonging to Vectius Marcellus, a right worshipful knight of Rome, which of itself bodily crossed the broad highway to a place where lay tillage or arable ground. And the corn lands by way of exchange crossed over the said causeway again and were found in lieu of the Olive plot or hortyard. But if any may be desirous to know more of these and suchlike miracles (since I love not to run on still and make no end) I refer him over to Aristander, a Greek writer, who has compiled a whole volume and stuffed it full of suchlike wonders. Let him also have recourse to C. Epidus, a countryman of ours, whose commentaries are full of such stuff: where he shall find also that trees sometimes spoke. [83]

Fig trees played a prominent part in Roman history. No less than four were conspicuous in Rome. A sacred fig tree was kept in the Forum and renewed, when it withered, by the priests. Another even more famous, named Ruminalis, was that under which Romulus and Remus were suckled by the she-wolf. A third grew before the temple of Saturn and was tended by the Vestal nuns. A fourth mysteriously appeared in the Forum, apparently in a crack of ground caused by a formidable earthquake. This was well looked after and trimmed by the populace who enjoyed, in the manner of the patriarchs, "the pleasure of the shade thereof."

In religious observances the highest honours were paid to corn, the sacred food and staple commodity on which man existed. Romulus instituted a fraternity of "certain Priests or Wardens over cornfields". He himself was the twelfth brother of this Order and wore a garland of ears of corn twisted and tied together with a white riband as the sacred badge of the new priesthood. King Numa, his successor, offered sacrifices of corn baked or parched, and it became an established custom that no man should "taste new com or wine before the priests had taken a fee of the first fruits." Here we have an instance of tithes.

Thus Roman religion concerned itself with a system which endeavoured to ensure success and plenty by conciliating forces outside science and by warding off the danger of some evil principle that controlled events. It is an understood rule that men fear what they do not understand; and the feeling of dependence on agriculture as a means of subsistence dictated fitting ceremonies. Any unusual or unexpected event in the realm of nature was at once accepted as the prelude to something equally unusual in human affairs.

With regard to Pliny's attitude to the more philosophical aspect of religion we find that he recognises three ruling factors as uppermost in life—Fate, Fortune and Nature. He was too independent and self-reliant to submit to a doctrine of absolute fatalism, to believe that the issues of a man's life were determined by blind chance or sheer accident. The popular Roman worship of Fortuna was to him a form of rank superstition which could have no other effect than to undermine the basis of character. Augury was a weak substitute for personal initiative and responsibility. The great principle of the universe lay in the Epicurean doctrine of "Nature", the inexorable power deciding and determining everything, but not in herself a deity. Jupiter as a god had, in fact, distinct limitations. It is pointed out that he was necessarily tied to an existence of which he could not rid himself, and in that matter was to be considered less fortunate than mortal men for whose benefit Nature had in all kindliness supplied the inestimable boon of sleep and death. Pliny's ideas are curiously simple, yet patently sensible. He proves to his own satisfaction that Jupiter is ruled even by the laws of mathematics and is powerless to cancel the universal principle that twice ten make twenty. "God", he says, referring to Jupiter, "is not omnipotent and cannot do all things". Nature on the other hand remains in supreme control and is an ever-present and active force. And Fortuna, the most popular Deity of Rome, was herself a delusive and helpless form of deity who in representing the action of blind chance, could never be accepted as capable of infringing or annulling the excellent power of Nature.