great number and rain descended in floods–certainly not without divine intervention, since the Egyptian Maege Arnulphis, who was with Marcus Antoninus, is said to have invoked several genii by the aerial mercury by enchantment, and thus through them had brought down rain.”
Here, it will be observed, a supernatural explanation is given of a natural phenomenon. But the narrator does not stop with this.
If we are to accept the account of Xiphilinus, Dion brings forward some striking proofs of divine interference. Xiphilinus gives these proofs in the following remarkable paragraph:
“Dion adds that when the rain began to fall every soldier lifted his head towards heaven to receive the water in his mouth; but afterwards others hold out their shields or their helmets to catch the water for themselves and for their horses. Being set upon by the barbarians . . . while occupied in drinking, they would have been seriously incommoded had not heavy hail and numerous thunderbolts thrown consternation into the ranks of the enemy. Fire and water were seen to mingle as they left the heavens. The fire, however, did not reach the Romans, but if it did by chance touch one of them it was immediately extinguished, while at the same time the rain, instead of comforting the barbarians, seemed merely to excite like oil the fire with which they were being consumed. Some barbarians inflicted wounds upon themselves as though their blood had power to extinguish flames, while many rushed over to the side of the Romans, hoping that there water might save them.”
We cannot better complete these illustrations of pagan credulity than by adding the comment of Xiphilinus himself. That writer was a Christian, living some generations later than Dion. He never thought of questioning the facts, but he felt that Dion’s interpretation of these facts must not go unchallenged. As he interprets the matter, it was no pagan magician that wrought the miracle. He even inclines to the belief that Dion himself was aware that Christian interference, and not that of an Egyptian, saved the day. “Dion knew,” he declares, “that there existed a legion called The Thundering Legion, which name was given it for no other reason than for what came to pass in this war,” and that this legion was composed of soldiers from Militene who were all professed Christians. “During the battle,” continues Xiphilinus,
“the chief of the Pretonians , had set at Marcus Antoninus, who was in great perplexity at the turn events were taking, representing to him that there was nothing the people called Christians could not obtain by their prayers, and that among his forces was a troop composed wholly of followers of that religion.
Rejoiced at this news, Marcus Antoninus demanded of these soldiers that they should pray to their god, who granted their petition on the instant, sent lightning among the enemy and consoled the Romans with rain. Struck by this wonderful success, the emperor honored the Christians in an edict and named their legion The Thundering. It is even asserted that a letter existed by Marcus Antoninus on this subject. The pagans well knew that the company was called The Thunderers, having attested the fact themselves, but they revealed nothing of the occasion on which the leader received the name.”[1]
Peculiar interest attaches to this narrative as illustrating both credulousness as to matters of fact and pseudo-scientific explanation of alleged facts. The modern interpreter may suppose that a violent thunderstorm came up during the course of a battle between the Romans and the so-called barbarians, and that owing to the local character of the storm, or a chance discharge of lightning, the barbarians suffered more than their opponents. We may well question whether the philosophical emperor himself put any other interpretation than this upon the incident. But, on the other hand, we need not doubt that the major part of his soldiers would very readily accept such an explanation as that given by Dion Cassius, just as most readers of a few centuries later would accept the explanation of Xiphilinus. It is well to bear this thought in mind in considering the static period of science upon which we are entering. We shall perhaps best understand this period, and its seeming retrogressions, if we suppose that the average man of the Middle Ages was no more credulous, no more superstitious, than the average Roman of an earlier period or than the average Greek; though the precise complexion of his credulity had changed under the influence of Oriental ideas, as we have just seen illustrated by the narrative of Xiphilinus.