The Egyptians claimed such great antiquity—300 kings before Amasis and, as Mela writes, 13,000 years from the beginning of their chronicles. They boasted so much of their ancient learning, for they invented arithmetic, astronomy and geometry; of their wealth and power, vaunting their 20,000 cities. Yet at the same time their idolatry and superstition were of the grossest kind. As Diodorus Siculus records, they worshipped the sun and moon under the names of Isis and Osiris, and later any people who benefited them, or any creature that did them good.

In the city of Bubastis they worshipped a cat, says Herodotus; ibises and storks; an ox, says Pliny; leeks and onions, says Macrobius:

Daring to set leeks and onions in the clouds as gods, These are the gods you worship, Nile. ——

The mocking Lucian, in his True History—which, as he himself admits, was not written to persuade readers of its truth, but as comedy aimed at the monstrous inventions and gross absurdities of writers and nations—undoubtedly means to ridicule this prodigious Egyptian idolatry when he invents this story about himself. After seeing the Elysian Fields, as he was leaving, Rhadamanthus gave him a mallow root and told him to pray to it whenever he was in danger or distress. He did so: when he came to Hydamordia, on the island of treacherous women, he prayed to his root and was instantly delivered.

The Syrians and Chaldeans had just as many gods peculiar to themselves, of their own invention. See the same Lucian’s On the Syrian Goddess; Mornay’s On the Truth of Religion, chapter 22; Wilhelm Stucki’s Description of the Rites and Sacrifices of the Gentiles; Peter Faber’s Six-Month Studies, book 3, chapters 1, 2 and 3; Selden’s On the Syrian Gods; Purchas’s Pilgrimage; Rosinus on the Romans; and Lilius Giraldus on the Greeks.

The Romans borrowed from them all, besides having their own gods, of the higher and lower orders, as Varro puts it, known and unknown; some heavenly, select and great gods; others native gods and demigods, household spirits, spirits of the dead, the Dioscuri, saviours and protectors—the Greeks’ tutelary gods. Gods of every kind, for every function: some for the land, some for the sea; some for heaven, some for hell; some for passions and diseases, some for birth, some for weddings, farming, woods, waters, gardens, orchards, and so on.

Every activity and office had its god: Pax, Peace; Quies, Rest; Salus, Health; Libertas, Liberty; Felicitas, Happiness; Strenua, Stimula, Horta, Pan, Sylvanus, Priapus, Flora, Cloacina and Stercutius; Febris, Fever; Pallor, Paleness; Invidia, Envy; Protervia, Impudence; Risus, Laughter; Angerona, Volupia, Vacuna, Viriplaca, Veneranda, Pales, Neptunia and Doris.

Kings, emperors and brave men who had performed any service for them they likewise canonized and worshipped as gods. It was commonly done: “It was usual among the ancients,” as Jacques Boissard rightly observes, “to deify people whose good deeds benefited mortals.” And the Devil was always ready to support their intentions: “At once he insinuated himself into their tombs, statues, temples and altars,” and so on. He crept into their temples, statues, tombs and altars, ready to give oracles, cure diseases and perform miracles, as through Jupiter, Aesculapius, Tiresias, Apollo, Mopsus, Amphiaraus and the rest—gods and demigods.

For such they were: “half-gods,” demigods, some “intermediate between gods and human beings,” as Maximus of Tyre, the Platonist, maintains and defends at length in discourses 26 and 27. When a good man dies, his body is buried, but his soul, “passing from human being to spirit,” immediately becomes a demigod. Unimpaired by harmful air or the diversity of forms, it rejoices, exults and sees that perfect beauty with its own eyes. Now deified, out of compassion it helps its poor friends here on earth, its relatives and kin; instructs and aids them; punishes the wicked and those who do wrong; and becomes a good guardian spirit appointed by the gods to protect and govern mortal people. So they would have it, assigning some to provinces, some to individuals, some to one duty, some to another.

Hector and Achilles assist soldiers to this day; Aesculapius, all the sick; the Dioscuri, seafarers; and so on. Sometimes, when occasion calls, they show themselves. The Dioscuri, Hercules and Aesculapius he saw himself—or the Devil in his likeness: “I myself saw them, not dreaming but awake.” So much for Maximus of Tyre. Nor do they worship only good people in this way, but tyrants, monsters and devils, as Stucki indignantly says: Neros, Domitians, Elagabaluses, depraved women and outright whores among the rest.

For every purpose, place and creature they assign gods:

To houses, roofs, baths and shod horses They are accustomed to assign guardian spirits. ——

So says Prudentius. Cuna for cradles; Diverra for sweeping houses; Nodina for knots; Prema, Pramunda, Hymen and Hymeneus for weddings; Comus, god of good companions; gods of silence and comfort; Hebe, goddess of youth; Mena of menstruation; and so on. Male and female gods of every age, sex and size, bearded and beardless, married and unmarried, begotten or not born at all, but springing, like Minerva, from Jupiter’s head. Hesiod counts at least 30,000 gods; Varro, 300 Jupiters. As Jeremiah told them, their gods were as numerous as their cities:

Whatever earth, sea, heaven brings forth—pitiable indeed— They called gods: hills, straits, rivers, flames.

Whatever heaven, sea and land brought forth, Hills, seas and rivers—this was God, and that.

And, most absurdly, they made gods on such ridiculous grounds. As children make dolls, says Mornay, their poets make gods; “and those whom they worship in temples, they make sport of in theatres,” as Lactantius scoffs.