Did the Romans Practice Black Magic?
In AD 197, a Roman citizen named Gemellus Horion, a farmer in Karanis, Egypt, filed a series of petitions in which he describes a weird sequence of events: his neighbours Julius and Sotas had, he claimed, come onto his land and attempted to repossess it by throwing something at his 'cultivator' (labourer). Both Gemellus and the cultivator were terrified, and at first, you might question how throwing something at someone in order to steal their land could cause such panic. When you read the text, however, it is clear that something very, very weird is going on:
"... In addition, not content, he again trespassed with his wife and a certain Zenas, having with them an infant intending to hem in my cultivator with black magic, so that he should abandon his labour after having harvested part of another allotment of mine,and they themselves gathered in the crops. When this happened, I went to Julius in the company of officials, in order that these matters might be witnessed. Again, in the same manner, they threw the same infant toward me, intending to hem me in also with black magic ... "
(P.Mich. 423)
Why are these people throwing babies at farmers in a field? Obviously, as Gemellus suggests, black magic is afoot, and whilst it is not obvious, it is likely that the 'infant' in question is a fetus, probably human, and probably a tragic one that was born with some sort of identifying characteristics - a mutation of some kind - that deemed it worthy of retaining for malevolent purposes by a sorcerer with ill intent. An aberration of the will of the gods that could be put to 'evil' ends.
Magic in the Roman world encompassed a wide range of practices, each with its own methods and purposes. Among the most common were curses (defixiones), binding spells, and necromancy.
Curses (Defixiones): Curse tablets were inscribed pieces of lead or other materials, often buried in graves or thrown into wells, intended to invoke supernatural forces to harm or control others. These curses targeted a variety of individuals, from rivals in love or business to political enemies. The Bath curse tablets, discovered in Roman Britain, provide a vivid example of how ordinary Romans used curses to seek revenge or justice.
Binding Spells: Binding spells were designed to restrict or control the actions of others. These spells often involved the use of figurines or written incantations, which were believed to bind the target's will or physical abilities. Such spells were commonly used in competitive contexts, such as athletics or legal disputes.
Necromancy: Necromancy, the practice of communicating with the dead to gain knowledge or power, was another form of black magic. While necromancy was often associated with Greek traditions, it was also practised in the Roman world, particularly in the context of divination and prophecy.
The individuals who practised black magic in the Roman world came from diverse backgrounds, ranging from professional magicians to everyday people. Professional magicians, often referred to as magi or venefici, were skilled in the arts of spellcasting and ritual. These practitioners were sometimes sought out for their expertise, but they were also viewed with suspicion and fear.
Witches (sagae) were another prominent group associated with black magic. Roman literature, such as the works of Ovid and Apuleius, often depicts witches as powerful and dangerous figures capable of casting spells, transforming into animals, and communing with spirits. While these portrayals were often exaggerated, they reflect the cultural anxieties surrounding female practitioners of magic.
Ordinary people also engaged in black magic, particularly in the form of curses and binding spells. Archaeological evidence, such as the numerous curse tablets found throughout the Roman Empire, suggests that black magic was a widespread and accessible practice.
Pliny the Elder, in his Natural History, wrote extensively on the subject of magic and its place in the observable universe. To people like Pliny, the definition of what qualifies as 'magic', particularly black magic, lies as much in the intent of the practitioner as in what the practitioner gets up to. Hence, people like Nero, who very few of the ancient sources said anything nice about, are described as having access to the works and teachings of the darkest magicians (Natural History, XXX, 5-6), even if Pliny says that Nero didn't have much aptitude for the darker arts. When Pliny himself describes what might otherwise be interpreted as 'magic', he does so in a much more benign way, linking the properties of natural remedies, say, to divine revelation. In the Medieval period, women who dabbled in potions ran the risk of being bullied as 'witches', but when Pliny does the same, he is simply exploring the natural world and doing so with, he believes, the express wishes of the gods. Pliny is of the firm opinion that what he is describing is a process aimed at bringing humankind closer to the knowledge of the gods, and, as such, it is expressly for the good of all humanity (Natural History II, 62). Nero, on the other hand, is dabbling in things he can barely understand for evil intent. One is very clearly 'magic', and the other is more ambiguous.
Pliny is quite happy to use the term 'magic' for some of the things he describes as being for the common good, whilst at the same time portraying the actions of 'professional' magicians as either the work of tricksters, evil-doers or conmen (Natural History, XXIX, 20). This blurring of the lines is expressed quite clearly when he accuses those 'sorcerers' who wrote down their 'spells' (which might in other contexts be described as a recipe for a potion) of trying to pervert a humanity that they 'despised' (Natural History XXVII, 40). The work of nobles such as Pliny is often portrayed as being universally for the common good and morally 'correct' for seemingly no other reason than the nobles doing it. When anyone else does the same thing, they are not to be trusted to be doing so with the same benevolent intent. Public benefaction was a central tenet of a noble's career, and they seemed to have guarded very closely the right to demand that they and they alone were the arbiters of what was in the common interest. As such, although a 'professional' magician might be espousing the same tenets as Pliny was, the fact that they had their hands sullied by filthy money in exchange for doing so rendered them 'evil'. Romans like Pliny were, and loved to be, extravagantly rich, but they didn't get to be so by anything as tawdry as handling money.
When Pliny is very deliberate in his use of the term 'magic', he tends to dismiss it as ineffective, which again would suggest that his problem lies more with the practitioner than the practice. However, he also claims that the fear of magic is universal (Natural History XXVIII, 4), a fear that he himself perhaps suffers from. This would suggest that there is something to be afraid of outside of the dubious practices of charlatans. He doesn't expressly claim that people are afraid of the sorcerers but of their 'spells'. People wore all sorts of charms and amulets to protect themselves from malevolent magic, something that Pliny seems to accept as normal behaviour and seems to suggest (Natural History XXVIII, 4) that erring on the side of caution by doing so is wise. One of the core beliefs of the polytheistic model was that there are an unknown number of gods and that more may be discovered at any time. Likewise, while Pliny is generally dismissive of malevolent magic as being ineffectual, that doesn't preclude the possibility that malevolent magic that actually works is out there somewhere, yet to be discovered. Better keep your amulets on, just in case.
Whilst it might seem at first glance as though Pliny cannot make his mind up about whether magic is real or not, on closer inspection, he would appear to accept that it is real, even if it is yet to be revealed as so.
To what extent this belief in magic can be put down to 'superstition' is discussed by Plutarch in his treatise On Superstition. Broadly, Plutarch describes superstition as the ritualised 'fear' of the gods, something that leads followers to engage in ritual, wear charms and symbols and chant weird rites in bizarre languages. Plutarch is a firm believer in the power of omens, dreams and the 'evil eye' and also believed that demons existed to act as intermediaries between humans and gods. These demons weren't universally 'evil' but were all capable of acting with malign intent, and these superstitious beliefs begin to blur the lines between what we commonly see as 'religion' in the modern world and superstition and magic in the ancient one.
From a dispassionate point of view, someone like Jesus of Nazareth can be seen as a typical practitioner of what the Roman world in the first century AD described as 'magic'. His performance of miracles dabbled in Plutarch's superstitious world of demons, which Jesus exorcised, or in necromancy by raising the dead. He healed the sick by using bodily fluids and clay as a conduit:
"Now as Jesus passed by, He saw a man who was blind from birth. And His disciples asked Him, saying, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?' Jesus answered, 'Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God should be revealed in him. I must work the works of Him who sent Me while it is day; the night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.' When He had said these things, He spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva; and He anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay. And He said to him, 'Go, wash in the pool of Siloam' (which is translated, Sent). So he went and washed, and came back seeing."
(John 9:1-7)
Interestingly, when Tacitus describes the emperor Vespasian as performing much the same 'miracle' by restoring the sight of a blind man using spittle (Histories, 4.81), he does so by claiming that Vespasian, somewhat reluctantly it must be said, channels the will of the gods. Although he doesn't use the term 'magic', he clearly has the same opinion of the process as Pliny the Elder.
As Christianity became more prevalent across the Empire, then the actions of people like Jesus and his followers became more and more aligned with the concept of magic. As people like Jesus were not among the elite, it also became apparent that their practices were malevolent, as discussed above. The Gospels did little to dispel the idea that Jesus was a magician - he performed miracles seen as magic, he had an apparently divine birth, and he battled against a superpowerful demon in Satan. Moreover, some of the Gospels suggested that Jesus was whizzed off to Egypt - the home of everything superstitious and magical - where he was exposed to their exotic and untrustworthy influences. Some rabbinical texts have him returning from Egypt 'tattooed in spells' (Morton, 1978) and that he was 'mad', an accusation that was often labelled at people less for their mental health status and more for their supposed influence under some form of magical or demonic possession. Again, we see the delineation between practitioner and practice. Nobody would ever suggest (or dare to suggest, perhaps) that Vespasian was a mad magician possessed by a demon, even though he performed some of the same 'magic' that Jesus did. But then one of them was the emperor of the Roman Empire, and the other was a bloke who made tables in Judea. One of them was the saviour of Rome at a time of disastrous civil war, and the other was a troublemaker condemned by the Sanhedrin.
Jesus might not have been a magician, nor was he pretending to be one and reading the Gospels to suggest that he was one seems, on reflection, a little trite. Neither did he ask for compensation, financially at least, in return for his works, something that Pliny suggests was the mark of a 'magician'. It is, however, a very easy accusation to label him when you're trying to get him to stop being quite so annoying to the Jewish hierarchy.
There is a fellow in Acts (8.9) by the name of Simon Magus who, as you might be able to guess by his name, was widely regarded as a magician. A fan of the work of Peter, Simon was impressed by the apparent ability to channel the Holy Spirit and use it to perform exorcisms and cure disease. He was accepted into the faith and was baptised, but his status as a 'magician' appears to be his intent. He seems to have become an adherent of Christianity primarily so that he can obtain these seemingly magical ways and then use them himself. In effect, he is like one of Pliny's despised 'professional' magicians who performed the will of the god(s) in exchange for some earthly reward. Simon's eventual rejection by the Apostles resulted in the term 'simony', the act of selling influence in the church in exchange for cash. In Peter's hands, the practices are seen as benign and, therefore, not 'magic'. When Simon attempts to 'buy' the same power, he suddenly becomes a sorcerer.
The writer Apuleius was someone whose attempts at dabbling at the edges of Platonic philosophy ended up with him being accused of being a magician. His attempt at defending himself against the charge, Apologia, written in about 160 AD, shows how thinly this dividing line could be if the person in question, rather than their practices, came under suspicion. It didn't help that Apuleius then went on to write The Golden Ass, the only complete novel to survive from the Roman period, in which the hero Lucius dabbles in magic and has to be rescued from its wiles by the goddess Isis. The autobiographical suggestions of the story are very strong.
When magic is mentioned in Roman law, it is nearly always in a negative light, and the same laws always act to control or outlaw it. A trial held in 157 BC concerned the use of black magic to entice the crops from one farmer's field into another (Natural History, XVIII. 41–43). In 13 BC, Augustus ordered that all books on magic be burned, and in AD 16, all the astrologers, and by inference magicians, as astrologers were seen as 'professionals', were exiled from Italy. Further proscriptions against magicians and astrologers occurred under Vespasian and Domitian. Again, we see the difference between practices that are deemed purely in exchange for money and those that are adjudged to be worthy as part of organised religion or just part of morally sound Roman tradition.
For the elite, black magic was often seen as a threat to political stability and personal security, but more commonly, it was seen as an affront to the morally upstanding practices of the upper strata of society. Religious ritual and the right to guide the people in matters of morality were seen as the preserve of the nobles, and when people of lesser birth attempted to muscle in on this racket, with their grubby little hands held out in exchange for coin, the problem was less that they were besmirching the good name of 'magic' and more that they were making the place smell of profit and taint the atmosphere with the filthy implications of money gained by tawdry means.
References and Further Reading
Apuleius. The Golden Ass.
Ovid. Metamorphoses.
Pliny the Elder. Natural History.
Plutarch. On Superstition.
P.Mich. 423. Petition of Gemellus Horion.
Smith, Morton (1978). Jesus the Magician: Charlatan or Son of God?. San Francisco: Harper & Row.
Apuleius, The Golden Ass.
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