period, and seems to have become endemic. I only mention it here (for we
have had quite enough of it already) because the question arises whether
it is now used mainly for political purposes, or to annoy a personal
rival or enemy. This does not appear clearly from Livy's accounts, but
in an age of personal and political rivalries, as this undoubtedly was,
it can hardly have been otherwise. Certain it is that the interests of
the State were grievously interfered with in this way. The consuls at
this time, and until 153 B.C., did not enter on office until March 15,
and they should have been ready to start for their military duties as
soon as the levies had been completed; instead of which, they were
constantly delayed by the duty of expiating these marvels. In 199
Flamininus, whose appointment to the command in Macedonia had of course
annoyed the friends of the man he was superseding, was delayed in this
way for the greater part of the year, and yet he is said to have left
Italy at an earlier date than most consuls.[712] Thus the change to
January 1 for the beginning of the consular year, which took place in
153 B.C., was an unavoidable political necessity. Even the Sibylline
books came to be used for personal and political purposes. In the year
144 the praetor Marcius Rex was commissioned to repair the Appian and
Aniensian aqueducts and to construct a new one. The _decemviri sacris
faciundis_, consulting the books, as it was said, for other reasons,
found an oracle forbidding the water to be conveyed to the Capitoline
hill, and seem on this absurd ground to have been able to delay the
necessary work. Our information is much mutilated, but the real
explanation seems to be that there was some personal spite against
Marcius, who, however, eventually completed the work.[713] Nearly a
century later a Sibylline oracle, beyond doubt invented for the purpose,
was used to prevent Pompeius from taking an army to Egypt to restore
Ptolemy Auletes to his throne. But all students of Roman history in the
last two centuries B.C. are familiar with such cases of the prostitution
of religion or religious processes, and I have already said enough about
it in the lecture on divination.[714]
I do not, of course, mean to assert that personal and political motives
account for all or the greater number of _prodigia_ reported. There is
plenty of evidence that the genuine old _religio_ could be stirred up by
real marvels, which the government were bound to expiate in order to
satisfy public feeling. Thus in 193 B.C. earthquakes were so frequent
that the Senate could not meet, nor could any public business be done,
so busy were the consuls with the work of expiation. At last the
Sibylline books were consulted and the usual religious remedies applied;
but the spirit of the age is apparent in the edict of the consuls,
prompted by the Senate, that if _feriae_ had been decreed to take place
on a certain day for the expiation of an earthquake, no fresh earthquake
was to be reported on that same day.[715] This delicious edict,
unparalleled in Roman history, caused the grave Livy to declare that the
people must have grown tired, not only of the earthquakes, but of the
_feriae_ appointed to expiate them.
Let us turn to another and more interesting feature of this age, which
is plainly visible in the sphere of religion, as in other aspects both
of private and public life: I mean the growth of _individualism_. Men,
and indeed women also, as we shall see, are beginning to feel and to
assert their individual importance, as against the strict rules and
traditions, civil or religious, of the life of the family and the State.
This is a tendency that had long been at work in Greece, and is
especially marked in the teaching of the two great ethical schools of
the post-Alexandrian period, the Epicureans and Stoics. The influence of
Greece on the Romans was already strong enough to have sown the seeds of
individualism in Italy; but the tendency was at the same time a natural
result of enlarged experience and expanding intelligence among the upper
classes. The second century B.C. shows us many prominent men of strong
individual character, who assert themselves in ways to which we have not
been accustomed in Roman history, _e.g._ Scipio the elder, Flamininus,
Cato, Aemilius Paulus and his son, Scipio Aemilianus; and among lesser
and less honourable men we see the tendency in the passionate desire for
personal distinction in the way of military commands, triumphs, and the
giving of expensive games. This is the age in which we first hear of
statues and portrait busts of eminent men; and magistrates begin to put
their names or types connected with their families on the coins which
they issue.[716]
In religion this tendency is seen mainly in the attempts of the
individual, often successful, to shake himself free of the restrictions
of the old _ius divinum_. I pointed out long ago that it was a weak
point in the old Roman religion that it did little or nothing to
encourage and develop the individual religious instinct; it was
formalised as a religion of family and State, and made no appeal, as did
that of the Jews, to the individual's sense of right and wrong.[717] The
sense of sin was only present to the Roman individual mind in the form
of scruple about omissions or mistakes in the performance of religious
duties. Thus religion lost her chance at Rome as an agent in the
development of the better side of human nature. As an illustration of
what I mean I may recall what I said in an early lecture, that the
spirit of a dead Roman was not thought of as definitely individualised;
it joined the whole mass of the Manes in some dimly conceived abode
beneath the earth; there is no singular of the word Manes. It is only in
the third century B.C. that we first meet with memorial tombstones to
individuals, like those of the Scipios, and not till the end of the
Republican period that we find the words Di Manes representing in any
sense the spirit of the individual departed.[718]
In practical life the quarrel of the individual with the _ius divinum_
takes the form of protest against the restrictions placed on the old
sacrificing priesthoods, these of the Flamines and the Rex sacrorum,
who, unlike the pontifices and augurs, were disqualified from holding a
secular magistracy.[719] These priesthoods must be filled up, and when a
vacancy occurred, the pontifex maximus, who retained the power of the
Rex in this sphere, as a kind of _paterfamilias_ of the whole State,
selected the persons, and could compel them to serve even if they were
unwilling. But the interests of public life are now far more attractive
than the duties of the cults,--the individual wishes to assert himself
where his self-assertion will be noted and appreciated.
These attempts at emancipation from the _ius divinum_ were not at first
successful. In 242 a flamen of Mars was elected consul; he hoped to be
in joint command with his colleague Lutatius of the naval campaign
against Carthage. But the _ius divinum_ forbade him to leave Italy, and
the pontifex maximus inexorably enforced it.[720] Of this quarrel we
have no details; but in 190 a similar case is recorded in full. A flamen
Quirinalis, elected praetor, who had Sardinia assigned him as his
province, was stopped by the _ius divinum_ administered by another
inexorable pontifex maximus; and it was only after a long struggle, in
which Senate, tribunes, and people all took part, that he was forced to
submit. So great was his wrath that he was with difficulty persuaded not
to resign his praetorship.[721] Naturally it became difficult to fill
these priesthoods, for it was invidious to compel young men of any
promise to commit what was practically political suicide. The office of
_rex sacrorum_ was vacant for two years between 210 and 208;[722] and in
180 Cornelius Dolabella, a _duumvir navalis_, on being selected for this
priesthood, absolutely refused to obey the pontifex maximus when ordered
to resign his secular command. He was fined for disobedience, and
appealed to the people; at the moment when it became obvious that the
appeal would fail, he contrived to escape by getting up an unlucky omen.
_Religio inde fuit pontificibus inaugurandi Dolabellae_; and here we
have the strange spectacle of the _ius divinum_ being used to defeat its
own ends. Such a state of things needs no comment.[723]
But the most extraordinary story of this kind is that of a flamen of
Jupiter,--a story which many years ago I told in detail in the
_Classical Review_. Here I may just be allowed to reproduce it in
outline. In the year 209 a young C. Valerius Flaccus, the black sheep of
a great family, was inaugurated against his will as Flamen Dialis by the
pontifex maximus P. Licinius.[724] It was within the power of the head
of the Roman religion to use such compulsion, but it must have been
difficult and unusual to do so without the consent of the victim's
relations. In this case, as Livy expressly tells us, it was used because
the lad was of bad character,--_ob adolescentiam negligentem
luxuriosamque_; and it is pretty plain that the step was suggested by
his elder brother and other relations, in order to keep him out of
mischief. For, as we have seen, the taboos on this ancient priesthood
were numerous and strict, and among the restrictions laid on its holder
was one which forbade him to leave his house for a single night. Thus we
learn not only that this priesthood was not much accounted of in those
days, but also that for the _cura_ and _caerimonia_ of religion a pure
mind was no longer needed. But it might be utilised as a kind of penal
settlement for a libertine noble; and it is not impossible that a
century and a quarter later the attempt to put the boy Julius Caesar
into the same priesthood, though otherwise represented by the
historians, may have had the same object.[725] But the strange thing in
the case of Flaccus is that this very _cura_ and _caerimonia_, if Livy's
account is to be trusted, had such a wholesome disciplinary effect, that
the libertine became a model youth, the admiration of his own and other
families. Relying on his excellent character he even asserted the
ancient right of this flamen to take his seat in the Senate, a right
which had long been in abeyance _ob indignitatem flaminum priorum_; and
he eventually gained his point, in spite of obstinate opposition on the
part of a praetor. Some years later, in 200, this same man was elected
curule aedile.[726] This was clearly the first example of an attempt to
combine the priesthood with a magistracy, for a difficulty at once arose
and was solved in a way for which no precedent is quoted. Among the
taboos on this priest there was one forbidding him to take an oath; yet
the law demanded that a magistrate must take the usual oath within five
days of entering on office.[727] Flaccus insisted on asserting his
individuality in spite of the _ius divinum_, and the Senate and people
both backed him up. The Senate decreed that if he could find some one to
take the oath for him, the consuls might, if they chose, approach the
tribune with a view to getting a relieving _plebiscitum_; this was duly
obtained, and he took the oath by proxy. In his year of office as aedile
we find him giving expensive _ludi Romani_; and in 184 he only missed
the praetorship by an unlucky accident.[728] In this story we find the
self-assertion of an individual supported by Senate, consuls, and people
in breaking loose from the antiquated restrictions of a bygone age, and
we cannot but sympathise with it. But Roman history is full of
surprises, and among these I know none more amazing than the successful
attempt of Augustus two centuries later to revive this priesthood with
all its absurdities.[729]
The self-assertion of members of the great families against the _ius
divinum_ was inevitable, and in the instances just noticed the attitude
of compromise taken up by the government was only what was to be
expected in an age of stress and change and new ideas. But in less than
twenty years after the peace with Carthage this government found itself
suddenly face to face with what may be called a religious rebellion
chiefly among the lower orders, including women; and the authorities
unhesitatingly reverted to the position of conscientious guardians of
the religious system of the City-state. They began to realise that they
had been holding a wolf by the ears ever since the beginning of the
Hannibalic war; that they had a population to deal with which was no
longer pure Roman or even pure Italian, and that even the genuine Romans
themselves were liable to be moved by new currents of religious feeling.
During the war they had done all that was possible to meet the mental as
well as the material troubles of this population, even to the length of
introducing the worship, under certain restrictions, of the great
Phrygian Mother of the gods. But now, in 186, the sudden outbreak of
Dionysiac orgies in Italy showed them that all their remedies were stale
and insufficient, and that the wolf was getting loose in their hands.
Dionysus had long been housed at Rome, under the name of Liber, in that
temple of Ceres, Liber, and Libera which was discussed in detail in my
eleventh lecture.[730] But it is not likely that many Romans recognised
the identity of Liber and Dionysus, and it is quite certain that the
characteristic features of the Dionysiac ritual were entirely unknown at
Rome for three centuries after the foundation of the temple. That
ritual, as it existed in Greece from the earliest times, retaining the
essential features which it bore in its original Thracian home,[731] has
lately been thoroughly examined and clearly expounded by Dr. Farnell in
the fifth volume of his _Cults of the Greek States_, and the student of
the Roman religious history of this period would do well to study
carefully his fifth chapter. In most Greek states, as at Athens, in
spite of occasional outbreaks, the wilder aspects of the cult had not
been encouraged, but at Delphi and at Thebes, _i.e._ on Parnassus and
Cithaeron, the more striking phenomena of the genuine ritual are found
down to a late period. Dr. Farnell has summed these up under three heads
at the beginning of his account: "The wild and ecstatic enthusiasm that
it inspired, the self-abandonment and communion with the deity achieved
through orgiastic rites and a savage sacramental act, and the prominence
of women in the ritual, which in accordance with a certain psychic law
made a special appeal to their temperament."[732] It meant in fact
exactly that form of religious ecstasy which was peculiarly abhorrent to
the minds of the old Romans, who had built up the _ius divinum_ with its
sober ritual and its practical ideas of the supernatural powers around
them. We found nothing in our studies of this religion to lead us to
suppose for an instant that it had any mental effect such as "the
transcending of the limits of the ordinary consciousness and the feeling
of communion with the divine nature."[733] The Latin language indeed had
no native words for the expression of such emotions.[734]
But it would be a great mistake to suppose that there was no soil in
Italy, or even at Rome, where such emotional rites might take root. We
may believe that the dignity and sobriety of the Roman character was in
part at least the result of the discipline of ordered religion in family
and state; but this is not to say that the Romans were never capable of
religious indiscipline,--far from it. The Italian rural festival, then
as now, was lively and indecorous, so far as we can guess from the few
glimpses we get of it; and at Rome the ancient festival of Anna Perenna,
in which women took part, was a scene of revelry as Ovid describes
it,[735]--of dancing, singing, and intoxication, and we need not wonder
that it found no place in the ancient calendar of the _ius divinum_. And
we have lately had occasion to notice, in the new ritual instituted
under the direction of the Sibylline books, and more especially during
the great war, clear indications that the natural emotions of women,
even of Roman women, had to be satisfied by shows and processions in
which they could share, and that the ideal dignity of the Roman matron
had often given way under the terrible stress of public and domestic
anxiety and peril. No wonder then that when Roman armies had been for
years in Greece, and Greeks were flocking into Rome in larger numbers
every year, the Dionysiac rites should find their way into Italy, and no
wonder too that they should instantly find a congenial soil, exotics
though they were.
The story of the Bacchanalia is told by Livy in his best manner, and
whether or no it be literally true in every particular, is full of life
and interest. It is the fashion now to reject as false whatever is
surprising; and the latest historian of Rome dismisses Livy's account of
the discovery of the mischief as "an interesting romance."[736]
Fortunately we are not now concerned with this romance, if such it be; I
only propose to dwell on one or two points more nearly concerned with
our subject.
First, let us note that the seeds of this evil crop were sown in
Etruria, the most dangerous neighbour of the Romans from a religious
point of view; for it is hardly too much to say that all Greek
influences that filtered through Etruria on their way to Rome were
contaminated in the process. According to the story,[737] a common Greek
religious quack (_sacrificulus et vates_, as Livy calls him), of the
type held up to scorn by Plato in the _Republic_,[738] came to Etruria
and began to initiate in the rites; drunkenness was the result, and with
drinking came crime and immorality of all kinds. From Etruria the
mischief spread to Rome, and was there discovered accidentally.
According to the evidence given, it began with a small association of
women, who met openly in the daytime only three times a year. Then it
fell under the direction of a priestess from Campania,--Rome's other
most dangerous neighbour in regard to religion and morals,--who gave it
a sinister turn. The meetings were held at night, and were accompanied
not only by the characteristic features of the old Thracian ritual, but,
as in Etruria, by the most abominable wickedness. It was said to have
infected a large part of the population, including young members of
noble families; for with the true missionary instinct, young people only
were admitted by the hierophants. We need not necessarily believe all
this; but it is certain, from the steps taken by the government, about
which there is no doubt, that it is in the main a true account. The
storm and stress of the long war with Hannibal would be enough to
account for the phenomena, even if they were not in keeping with
well-known psychical facts.
Let us now turn for a moment to the attitude of the government in this
extraordinary episode of Roman religious experience. The danger is dealt
with entirely by the Senate and the magistrates; the authorities of the
_ius divinum_ as such have nothing to do with it. It is characteristic
of the age that it is not dealt with as a matter of religion merely, but
as a conspiracy--_coniuratio_.[739] This is the word used by Livy, and
we find it also in the document called _Senatusconsultum de
Bacchanalibus_, part of which has most fortunately come down to us. This
is the word also used, we may note, of the conspiracy of Catiline in the
century following, and it always conveys the idea of _rebellion_ against
the order and welfare of the State. In this case it was rebellion
against the whole body of the _mos maiorum_, the [Greek: ethos] of the
City-state of Rome. For it was an attempt to supersede the ancient
religious life of that State by _externa superstitio, prava
religio_--_prava_, because _deorum numen praetenditur sceleribus_; and
hence, as Livy expresses it in the admirable speech put into the mouth
of the consul, the Roman gods themselves felt their _numen_ to be
contaminated.[740] All the speeches in Livy, except perhaps the military
ones, are worth careful study by those who would enter into the Roman
spirit as conceived by an Augustan writer; and this is one of the most
valuable of them.
Lastly, let us note the steps taken by the government in this emergency.
It is treated as a matter of police, both in Rome and Italy; the guilty
are sought out and punished as conspirators against the State, and a
precedent of tremendous force is hereby established for all future
dealings with _externa superstitio_, which held good even to the last
struggle with Christianity. Where foreign rites are believed to be
dangerous to the State or to morality, they must be rigidly suppressed
in the Roman world; when they are harmless they may be tolerated, or
even, like the cult of the Magna Mater, received into the sacred circle
of Roman worships.[741] But there is yet another lesson to be learnt
from the conduct of the government at this crisis. Who would have
suspected, while reading the horrible story, and noting the almost
arbitrary energy with which the _coniuratio_ was stamped out, that the
Dionysiac rites would even now be tolerated under certain conditions?
That this was so is a fact attested not only by Livy, but by the
_Senatusconsultum_ itself.[742] The government was now forced to
recognise the fact that there were Romans for whom the _ius divinum_ no
longer sufficed, and who needed a more emotional form of religion. If
any one (so ran in effect the _Senatusconsultum_) felt conscientiously
that he could not wholly renounce the new religion, he might apply in
person to the praetor urbanus; and the praetor would lay the matter
before a meeting of the Senate, at which not less than a hundred must be
present. The Senate may give leave for the worship, provided that no
more than five persons be present at it; and that there be no common
fund for its support, nor any permanent priest to preside at it. These
clauses, says Aust,[743] are a concession to the strong spiritual
current of feeling which sought for something fresher and better to take
the place of the old religion of forms; and on the whole we may agree
with him. All religious revivals are liable to be accompanied by moral
evil, but they all express unmistakably a natural and honourable
yearning of the human spirit.
Not long after this, in 181, the government put its foot down firmly on
what seems to have been another attempt, though in this case a ludicrous
one, to introduce strange religious ideas at Rome. We have the story of
this on the authority not only of Livy, but of the oldest Roman
annalist, Cassius Hemina, from whose work Pliny has preserved a fragment
relating to this matter.[744] Cassius must almost certainly have been
alive in 181, and would remember the event;[745] and though his account
and Livy's differ in details, we may take the story as in the main true.
A secretary (_scriba_), who had land on the Janiculan hill, dug up there
a stone coffin with an inscription stating that the king Numa was buried
in it. No remains of a body were found, but in a square stone casket
inside the coffin were found books written on paper (_charta_) and
supposed to be writings of Numa about the Pythagorean philosophy. These
writings were read by many people, and eventually by a praetor, who at
once pronounced them to be subversive of religion. That anything
supposed to emanate from Numa should have this character was of course
impossible; and it is plain that the writings were believed even at the
time to be absurd forgeries, drawn up with the idea of investing strange
doctrines with the authority of Numa's name; for the legend of a
religious connection between Numa and Pythagoras must have been known at
the time. The discoverer appealed to the tribunes, who referred the
matter to the senate; and the senate authorised the praetor to burn the
books in the Comitium, which was done in the presence of a large
assembly.