Chapter XII: Part 12

_Tusculanæ Disputationes_, are so called by Cicero, from having been held at his seat near Tusculum—a town which stood on the summit of the Alban hill, about a mile higher up than the modern Frescati, and communicated its name to all the rural retreats in its neighbourhood. This was Cicero’s chief and most favourite villa. “It is,” says he, “the only spot in which I completely rest from all my uneasiness, and all my toils.”—“It stood,” says Eustace, “on one of the _Tumuli_, or beautiful hills grouped together on the Alban Mount. It is bounded on the south by a deep dell, with a streamlet that falls from the rock, then meanders through the recess, and disappears in its windings. Eastward rises the lofty eminence, once crowned with Tusculum—Westward, the view descends, and passing over the Campagna, fixes on Rome, and the distant mountains beyond it.—On the south, a gentle swell presents a succession of vineyards and orchards; and behind it towers the summit of the Alban Mount, once crowned with the temple of Jupiter Latiaris. Thus Cicero, from his portico, enjoyed the noblest and most interesting view that could be imagined to a Roman and a Consul; the temple of the tutelary divinity of the empire, the seat of victory and triumph, and the theatre of his glorious labours,—the Capital of the World(423).” A yet more recent traveller informs us, that “the situation of the ancient Tusculum is delightful. The road which leads to it is shaded with umbrageous woods of oak and ilex. The ancient trees and soft verdant meadows around it, almost remind us of some of the loveliest scenes of England; and the little brook that babbles by, was not the less interesting from the thought, that its murmurs might perchance have once soothed the ear of Cicero(424).”

The distance of Tusculum from Rome, which was only four leagues, afforded Cicero an easy retreat from the fatigues of the Senate and Forum. Being the villa to which he most frequently resorted, he had improved and adorned it beyond all his other mansions, and rendered its internal elegance suitable to its majestic situation. It had originally belonged to Sylla, by whom it was highly ornamented. In one of its apartments there was a painting of his victory near Nola, during the Marsic war, in which Cicero had served under him as a volunteer. But its new master had bestowed on this seat a more classical and Grecian air. He had built several halls and galleries in imitation of the schools and porticos of Athens, which he termed Gymnasia. One of these, which he named the Academia, was erected at a little distance from the villa, on the declivity of the hill facing the Alban Mount(425). Another Gymnasium, which he called the Lyceum, stood higher up the hill than the Academy: It was adjacent to the villa, and was chiefly designed for philosophical conferences. Cicero had given a general commission to Atticus, who spent much of his time in Greece, to purchase any elegant or curious piece of Grecian art, in painting or sculpture, which his refined taste might select as a suitable ornament for his Tusculan villa. He, in consequence, received from his friend a set of marble Mercuries, with brazen heads, with which he was much pleased; but he was particularly delighted with a sort of compound emblematical figures called _Hermathenæ_ and _Hermeraclæ_ representing Mercury and Minerva, or Mercury and Hercules, jointly on one base; for, Hercules being the proper deity of the Gymnasium, Minerva of the Academy, and Mercury common to both, they precisely suited the purpose for which he desired them to be procured. One of these Minerval Mercuries pleased him so wonderfully, and stood in such an advantageous position, that he declared the whole Academy at Tusculum appeared to have been contrived in order to receive it(426). So intent was he on embellishing this Tusculan villa with all sorts of Grecian art, that he sent over to Atticus the plans and devices for his ceilings, which were of stucco-work, in order to bespeak various pieces of sculpture and painting to be inserted in the compartments; as also the covers for two of his wells or fountains, which, by the custom of those times, were often formed after some elegant pattern, and adorned with figures in relief(427).

La Grotta Ferrata, a convent of Basilian friars, is now, according to Eustace, built on the site of Cicero’s Tusculan villa. Nardini, who wrote about the year 1650, says, that there had been recently found, among the ruins of Grotta Ferrata, a piece of sculpture, which Cicero himself mentions in one of his Familiar Epistles. In the middle of last century, there yet remained vast subterranean apartments, as well as a great circumference and extent of ruins(428). But these, it would appear, have been still farther dilapidated since that period. “Scarce a trace,” says Eustace, “of the ruins of Tusculum is now discoverable: Great part remained at the end of the 10th century, when a Greek monk from Calabria demolished it, and erected on the site, the monastery of Grotta Ferrata. At each end of the portico is fixed in the wall a fragment of basso relievo. One represents a philosopher sitting with a scroll in his hand, in a thinking posture—in the other, are four figures supporting the feet of a fifth of colossal size, supposed to represent Ajax. These, with the beautiful pillars which support the church, are the only remnants of the decorations and furniture of the ancient villa. ‘_Conjiciant_,’ says an inscription near the spot, ‘_quæ et quanta fuerunt_.’(429)”

When Cæsar had attained the supremacy at Rome, and Cicero no longer gave law to the Senate, he became the head of a sort of literary or philosophical society. Filelfo, who delivered public lectures at Rome, on the Tusculan Disputations, attempted to prove that he had stated meetings of learned men at his house, and opened a regular Academy at Tusculum(430). This notion was chiefly founded on a letter of Cicero to Pætus, where he says that he had followed the example of the younger Dionysius, who, being expelled from Syracuse, taught a school at Athens. At all events, it was his custom, in the opportunities of his leisure, to carry some friends with him from Rome to the country, where the entertainments they enjoyed were chiefly speculative. In this manner, Cicero, on one occasion, spent five days at his Tusculan villa; and after employing the morning in declamation and rhetorical exercises, retired in the afternoon with his friends to the gallery, called the Academy, which he had constructed for the purpose of philosophical conference. Here Cicero daily offered to maintain a thesis on any topic proposed to him by his guests; and the five dialogues thus introduced, were, as we are informed by the author, afterwards committed to writing, nearly in the words which had actually passed(431). They were completed early in 709, and, like so many of his other works, are dedicated to Brutus—each conference being at the same time furnished with an introduction expatiating on the excellence of philosophy, and the advantage of naturalizing the wisdom of the Greeks, by transfusing it into the Latin language. In the first dialogue, entitled _De Contemnenda Morte_, one of the guests, who is called the _Auditor_ through the remainder of the performance, asserts, that death is an evil. This proposition Cicero immediately proceeds to refute, which naturally introduces a disquisition on the immortality of the soul—a subject which, in the pages of Cicero, continued to be involved in the same doubt and darkness that had veiled it in the schools of Greece.

It is true, that in the ancient world some notion had been entertained, and by a few some hope had been cherished, that we are here only in the infancy of our existence, and that the grave might be the porch of immortality, and not the goal of our career. The natural love that we have for life, amidst all its miseries—the grief that we sometimes feel at being torn from all that is dear to us—the desire for posterity and for posthumous fame—the humiliating idea, that the thoughts which wander through eternity, should be the operations of a being destined to flutter for a moment on the surface of the earth, and then for ever to be buried in its bosom—all, in short, that is selfish, and all that is social in our nature, combined in giving importance to the inquiry, If the thinking principle was to be destroyed by death, or if that great change was to be an introduction to a future state of existence. Having thus a natural desire for the truth of this doctrine, the philosophers of antiquity anxiously devised arguments, which might justify their hopes. Sometimes they deduced them from metaphysical speculations—the spirituality, unity, and activity of the soul—sometimes from its high ideas of things moral and intellectual. Is it possible, they asked, that a being of such excellence should be here imprisoned for a term of years, only to be the sport of the few pleasures and the many pains which chequer this mortal life? Is not its future destination seen in that satiety and disrelish, which attend all earthly enjoyments—in those desires of the mind for things more pure and intellectual than are here supplied—in that longing and endeavour, which we feel after something above us, and perfective of our nature? At other times, they have found arguments in the unequal distribution of rewards and punishments; and in our sighs over the misfortunes of virtue, they have recognized a principle, which points to a future state of things, where that shall be discovered to be good which we now lament as evil, and where the consequences of vice and virtue shall be more fully and regularly unfolded, than in this inharmonious scene. They have then looked abroad into nature, and have seen, that if death follows life, life seemingly emanates from death, and that the cheerful animations of spring succeed to the dead horrors of winter. They have observed the wonderful changes that take place in some sentient beings—they have considered those which man himself has undergone—and, charmed by all these speculations, they have indulged in the pleasing hope, that our death may, like our birth, be the introduction to a new state of existence. But all these fond desires—all these longings after immortality, were insufficient to dispel the doubts of the sage, or to fill the moralist with confidence and consolation. The wisest and most virtuous of the philosophers of antiquity, and who most strongly indulged the hope of immortality, is represented by an illustrious disciple as expressing himself in a manner which discloses his sad uncertainty, whether he was to be released from the tomb, or for ever confined within its barriers.

In the age of Cicero, the existence of a world beyond the grave was still covered with shadows, clouds, and darkness. “Whichsoever of the opinions concerning the substance of the soul be true,” says he, in his first Tusculan Disputation, “it will follow, that death is either a good, or at least not an evil—for if it be brain, blood, or heart, it will perish with the whole body—if fire, it will be extinguished—if breath, it will be dissipated—if harmony, it will be broken—not to speak of those who affirm that it is nothing; but other opinions give hope, that the vital spark, after it has left the body, may mount up to Heaven, as its proper habitation.”

Cicero then proceeds to exhaust the whole Platonic reasoning for the soul’s immortality, and its ascent to the celestial regions, where it will explore and traverse all space—receiving, in its boundless flight, infinite enjoyment. From his system of future existence, Cicero excludes all the gloomy fables feigned of the descent to Avernus, the pale murky regions, the sluggish stream, the gaunt hound, and the grim boatman. But even if death is to be considered as the total extinction of sense and feeling, our author still denies that it should be accounted an evil. This view he strongly supports, from a consideration of the insignificance of those pleasures of which we are deprived, and beautifully illustrates, from the fate of many characters distinguished in history, who, by an earlier death, would have avoided the greatest ills of life. Had Metellus died sooner, he would not have laid his sons on the funeral pile—had Pompey expired, when the inhabitants of all Italy were decked with wreaths and garlands, as testimonies of joy for his restoration to health from the fever with which he was seized in Campania, he would not have taken arms unprepared for the contest, nor fled his home and country; nor, having lost a Roman army, would he have fallen on a foreign shore by the sword of a slave(432). He completes these illustrations by reference to his own misfortunes; and the arguments which he deduced from them, received, in a few months, a strong and melancholy confirmation.—“Etiam ne mors nobis expedit? qui et domesticis et forensibus solatiis ornamentisque privati, certe, si ante occidissemus, mors nos a malis, non a bonis abstraxisset.”

The same unphilosophical guest, who had asserted that death was a disadvantage, and whom Cicero, in charity to his memory, does not name, is doomed, in the second dialogue, _De Tolerando Dolore_, to announce the still more untenable proposition, that pain is an evil. But Cicero demonstrated, that its sufferings may be overcome, not by remembrance of the silly Epicurean maxims,—“Short if severe, and light if long,” but by fortitude and patience; and he accordingly censures those philosophers, who have represented pain in too formidable colours, and reproaches those poets, who have described their heroes as yielding to its influence.

In the third book, _De Ægritudine Lenienda_, the author treats of the best alleviations of sorrow. To foresee calamities, and be prepared for them, is either to repel their assaults, or to mitigate their severity. After they have occurred, we ought to remember, that grieving is a folly which cannot avail us, and that misfortunes are not peculiar to ourselves, but are the common lot of humanity. The sorrow of which Cicero here treats, seems chiefly that occasioned by deprivation of friends and relatives, to which the recent loss of his daughter Tullia, and the composition of his treatise _De Consolatione_, had probably directed his attention.

The fourth book treats _De Reliquis animi Perturbationibus_, including all those passions and vexations, which the author considers as diseases of the soul. These he classes and defines—pointing out, at the same time, the remedy or relief appropriate to each disquietude. In the fifth book, in which he attempts to prove that virtue alone is sufficient for perfect felicity—_Virtutem ad beate vivendum se ipsâ esse contentam_—he coincides more completely with the opinions of the Stoics, than in his work _De Finibus_, where he seems to assent, to the Peripatetic doctrine, “that though virtue be the chief good, the perfection of the other qualities of nature enters into the composition of supreme happiness.”

In these Tusculan Disputations, which treat of the subjects most important and subservient to the happiness of life, the whole discourse is in the mouth of Tully himself;—the Auditor, whose initial letter some editors have whimsically mistaken for that of Atticus, being a mere man of straw. He is set up to announce what is to be represented as an untenable proposition: but after this duty is performed, no English hearer or Welsh uncle could have listened with less dissent and interruption. The great object of Cicero’s continued lectures, is by fortifying the mind with practical and philosophical lessons, adapted to the circumstances of life, to elevate us above the influence of all its passions and pains.

The first conference, which is intended to diminish the dread of death, is the best; but they are all agreeable, chiefly from the frequent allusion to ancient fable, the events of Greek and Roman history, and the memorable sayings of heroes and sages. There is something in the very names of such men as Plato and Epaminondas, which bestows a sanctity and fervour on the page. The references also to the ancient Latin poets, and the quotations from their works, particularly the tragic dramas, give a beautiful richness to the whole composition; and even on the driest topics, the mind is relieved by the recurrence of extracts characteristic of the vigour of the Roman Melpomene, who, though unfit, as in Greece,

“To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,”

long trod the stage with dignity and elevation.

_Paradoxa_.—This tract contains a defence of six peculiar opinions or paradoxes of the Stoics, somewhat of the description of those which Cato was wont to promulgate in the Senate. These are, that what is morally fitting (_honestum_) is alone good,—that the virtuous can want nothing for complete happiness—that there are no degrees in crimes or good actions—that every fool is mad—that the wise alone are wealthy—that the wise man alone is free, and that every fool is a slave. These absurd and quibbling positions the author supports, in a manner certainly more ingenious than philosophical. The _Paradoxa_, indeed, seem to have been written as a sort of exercise of rhetorical wit, rather than as a serious disquisition in philosophy; and each paradox is personally applied or directed against an individual. There is no precision whatever in the definitions; the author plays on the ambiguity of the words, _bonum_ and _dives_, and his arguments frequently degenerate into particular examples, which are by no means adequate to support his general proposition.

_De Naturâ Deorum_.—Of the various philosophical works of Cicero, the most curious perhaps, and important, is that on the Nature of the Gods. It is addressed to Brutus, and is written in dialogue. This form of composition, besides the advantages already pointed out, is peculiarly fitted for subjects of delicacy and danger, where the author dreads to expose himself to reproach or persecution. On this account chiefly it seems to have been adopted by the disciples of Socrates. That philosopher had fallen a victim to popular fury,—to those imputations of impiety which have so often and so successfully been repeated against philosophers. In the schools of his disciples, a double doctrine seems to have been adopted for the purpose of escaping persecution, and Plato probably considered the form of dialogue as best calculated to secure him from the imputations of his enemies. It was thus, in later times, that Galileo endeavoured to shield himself from the attacks of error and injustice, and imagined, that by presenting his conclusions in the Platonic manner, he would shun the malignant vigilance of the Court of Inquisition(433).

In the dialogue _De Naturâ Deorum_, the author presents the doctrines of three of the most distinguished sects among the ancients—the Epicureans, the Stoics, and the Academics—on the important subject of the Nature of the Divine Essence, and of Providence. He introduces three illustrious persons of his country, each elucidating the tenets of the sect that he preferred, and contending for them, doubtless, with the chief arguments which the learning or talents of the author himself could supply. Cicero represents himself as having gone to the house of C. Cotta the Pontifex Maximus, whom he found sitting in his study with C. Velleius, a Senator, who professed the principles of Epicurus, and Q. Lucilius Balbus, a supporter of the doctrines of the Stoics.—“As soon as Cotta saw me, ‘You are come,’ says he, ‘very seasonably, for I have a dispute with Velleius upon an important subject, in which, considering the nature of your studies, it is not improper for you to join.’—‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘I am come very seasonably, as you say, for here are three chiefs of the three principal sects met together.’ ” Cotta himself is a new Academic, and he proceeds to inform Cicero that they were discoursing on the nature of the gods, a topic which had always appeared to him very obscure, and that therefore he had prevailed on Velleius to state the sentiments of Epicurus upon the subject. Velleius is requested to go on with his arguments; and after recapitulating what he had already said, “with the confidence peculiar to his sect, dreading nothing so much as to seem to doubt about anything, he began, as if he had just then descended from the council of the gods(434).”

The discourse of Velleius consists, in a considerable degree, of raillery and declamations directed against the doctrines of different sects, of which he enumerates a great variety, and which supposes in Cicero extensive philosophical erudition, or rather, perhaps, from the slight manner in which they are passed over, that he had taken his account of them from some ancient Diogenes Laertius, or Stanley(435).—“I have hitherto,” says Velleius, “rather exposed the dreams of dotards than the opinions of philosophers; and whoever considers how rashly and inconsiderately their tenets are advanced, must entertain a veneration for Epicurus, and rank him in the number of those beings who are the subject of this dispute, for he alone first founded the existence of the gods, on the impression which nature herself hath made on the minds of men.”

Velleius having concluded his discourse, (the remainder of which can now have little interest as relating to the form of the gods and their apathy,) Cotta, after some compliments to him, enters on a confutation of what he had advanced; and, while admitting that there are gods, he pronounces the reasons given by Velleius for their existence to be altogether insufficient. He then proceeds to attack the other positions of Velleius, with regard to the form of the gods, and their exemption from the labours of creation and providence. His arguments against Anthropomorphism are excellent; and in reply to the hypothesis of Epicurus concerning the indolence of the gods, he inquires, “What reason is there that men should worship the gods, when the gods, as you say, not only do not regard men, but are entirely careless of everything, and absolutely do nothing? But they are, you say, of so glorious a nature, that a wise man is induced by their excellence to adore them. Can there be any glory in that nature, which only contemplates its own happiness, and neither will do, nor does, nor ever did anything? Besides, what piety is due to a being from whom you receive nothing, or how are you indebted to him who bestows no benefits?”

When Cotta has concluded his refutation of Velleius, with which the first book closes, Balbus is next requested to give the sentiments of the Stoics, on the subject of the gods, to which, making a slight excuse, he consents. His first argument for their existence, after shortly alluding to the magnificence of the world, and the prevalence of the doctrine, is “the frequent appearance of the gods themselves. In the war with the Latins,” he continues, “when A. Posthumius, the Dictator, attacked Octavius Mamilius, the Tusculan, at Regillus, Castor and Pollux were seen fighting in our army on horseback, and since that time the same offspring of Tyndarus gave notice of the defeat of Perseus; for P. Vatienus, grandfather of the present youth of that name, coming in the night to Rome, from his government of Reate, two young men on white horses appeared to him, and told him King Perseus was that day taken prisoner. This news he carried to the Senate, who immediately threw him into prison, for speaking inconsiderately on a state affair; but when it was confirmed by letters from Paullus, he was recompensed by the Senate with land and exemption. The voices of the Fauns have been often heard, and deities have appeared in forms so visible, that he who doubts must be hardened in stupidity or impiety.”

Balbus, after farther arguing for the existence of the gods, from events consequent on auguries and auspices, proceeds to what is more peculiarly the doctrine of the Stoics. He remarks,—“that Cleanthes, one of the most distinguished philosophers of that sect, imputes the idea of the gods implanted in the minds of men, to four causes—The first is, what I just now mentioned, a pre-knowledge of future things: The second is, the great advantages we enjoy from the temperature of the air, the fertility of the earth, and the abundance of various kinds of benefits: The third is, the terror with which the mind is affected by thunder, tempests, snow, hail, devastation, pestilence, earthquakes, often attended with hideous noises, showers of stones, and rain like drops of blood. His fourth cause,” continues Balbus, “and that the strongest, is drawn from the regularity of the motion, and revolution of the heavens, the variety, and beauty, and order of the sun, moon, and stars; the appearance only of which is sufficient to convince us they are not the effects of chance; as when we enter into a house, a school, or court, and observe the exact order, discipline, and method therein, we cannot suppose they are so regulated without a cause, but must conclude there is some one who commands, and to whom obedience is paid; so we have much greater reason to think that such wonderful motions, revolutions, and order of those many and great bodies, no part of which is impaired by the vast infinity of age, are governed by some intelligent being.”

This argument is very well stated, but Balbus, in a considerable degree, weakens its effect, by proceeding to contend, that the world, or universe itself, (the stoical deity,) and its most distinguished parts, the sun, moon, and stars, are possessed of reason and wisdom. This he founds partly on a metaphysical argument, and partly on the regularity, beauty, and order of their motions.

Balbus, after various other remarks, enters on the topic of the creation of the world, and its government by the providence of the gods. He justly observes, that nothing can be more absurd than to suppose that a world, so beautifully adorned, could be formed by chance, or by a fortuitous concourse of atoms(436). “He who believes this possible,” says he, “may as well believe, that if a great number of the one-and-twenty letters, composed either of gold, or any other metal, were thrown on the ground, they would fall into such order as legibly to form the Annals of Ennius. I doubt whether fortune could make a single verse of them.” He quotes a very beautiful passage from a now lost work of Aristotle, in which that philosopher urges the argument that may be deduced from providential design, with more soundness and imagination than are usual with him. Balbus then proceeds to display the marks of deliberate plan in the universe, beginning with astronomy. In treating of the constellations, he makes great use of Cicero’s poetical version of Aratus, much of which he is supposed, perhaps with little probability, or modesty in the author, to have by heart; and, accordingly, we are favoured with a considerable number of these verses. He also adduces manifold proofs of design and sovereign wisdom, from a consideration of plants, land animals, fishes, and the structure of the human body; a subject on which Cicero discovers more anatomical knowledge than one should have expected. Balbus also contends that the gods not only provide for mankind universally, but for individuals. “The frequent appearances of the gods,” he observes, “demonstrate their regard for cities and particular men. This, indeed, is also apparent from the foreknowledge of events, which we receive either sleeping or waking.”

Cicero makes Balbus, in the conclusion of his discourse, express but little confidence in his own arguments.—“This is almost the whole,” says he, “that has occurred to my mind, on the nature of the gods, and that I thought proper to advance. Do you, Cotta, if I may advise, defend the same cause. Remember that in Rome you keep the first rank—remember you are Pontifex. It is a pernicious and impious custom, either seriously or seemingly to argue against the gods.”

In the third book of this very remarkable work, Cicero exhibits Cotta as refuting the doctrines of Balbus. “But before I enter on the subject,” says Cotta, “I have a word to say concerning myself; for I am greatly influenced by your authority, and your exhortation at the conclusion of your discourse, to remember I was Cotta, and Pontifex; by which, I presume, you intimated that I should defend the religion and ceremonies which we received from our ancestors: Truly, I always have, and always will defend them, nor shall the arguments, either of the learned or unlearned, ever remove the opinions I have imbibed concerning the worship of the immortal gods. In matters of religion, I submit to the rules of the High Priests, T. Coruncanius, P. Scipio, and P. Scævola. These, Balbus,” continues he, “are my sentiments, both as a priest and Cotta. But you must bring me to your opinion by the force of your reason; for a philosopher should prove to me the religion he would have me embrace; but I must believe without proof the religion of our ancestors.”

The Pontifex thus professing to believe the existence of the gods merely on the authority of his ancestors, proceeds to ridicule this very authority. He represents the appearances of Castor and Pollux, and those others adduced by Balbus, as idle tales. “Do you take these for fabulous stories?” says Balbus. “Is not the temple built by Posthumius, in honour of Castor and Pollux, to be seen in the Forum? Is not the decree of the Senate concerning Vatienus still subsisting? Ought not such authorities to move you?”—“You oppose me,” replies Cotta, “with stories; but I ask reasons of you.”

A chasm here follows in the original, in which Cotta probably stated the reasons of his scepticism, in spite of the acts of the Senate, and so many public memorials of supernatural facts. “You believe,” continues Cotta, “that the Decii, in devoting themselves to death, appeased the gods. How great, then, was the iniquity of the gods, that they could not be appeased, but at the price of such noble blood!—As to the voice of the Fauns, I never heard it; if you assure me you have, I shall believe you; though I am absolutely ignorant what a Faun is. Truly, Balbus, you have not yet proved the existence of the gods. I believe it, indeed, but not from any arguments of the Stoics. Cleanthes, you said, attributes the idea that men have of the gods to four causes. The first is a foreknowledge of future events; the second,—tempests and other shocks of nature; the third,—the utility and plenty of things we enjoy; the fourth,—the invariable order of the stars and heavens. Foreknowledge I have already answered. With regard to tempests in the air, the sea, and the earth, I own, that many people are affrighted by them, and imagine that the immortal gods are the authors of them. But the question is not, whether there be people who believe there are gods, but whether there are gods or not. As to the two other causes of Cleanthes, one of which is derived from the plenty we enjoy, the other from the invariable order of the seasons and heavens, I shall treat on them when I answer your discourse concerning the providence of the gods.”

In the meantime, Cotta goes on to refute the Stoical notions with regard to the reason and understanding attributed to the sun, moon, and stars. He then proceeds to controvert, and occasionally to ridicule, the opinions entertained of numerous heathen gods; the three Jupiters, and other deities, and sons of deities.—“You call Jupiter and Neptune gods,” says he; “their brother Pluto, then, is one; Charon, also, and Cerberus, are gods, but that cannot be allowed. Nor can Pluto be placed among the deities; how then can his brothers?” Cotta next ridicules the Stoics for the delight they take in the explication of fables, and in the etymology of names; after which he says, “Let us proceed to the two other parts of our dispute. 1st, Whether there is a Divine Providence that governs the world? and, lastly, Whether that Providence particularly regards mankind? For these are the remaining propositions of your discourse.”

There follows a considerable _hiatus_ in the original, so that we are deprived of all the arguments of Cotta on the proposition maintained by Balbus, that there is a Divine Providence which governs the world. At the end of this chasm, we find him quoting long passages from tragedies, and arguing against the advantages of reason, from the ill use which has been made of it. He then adduces a number of instances, drawn from history and observation, of fortunate vice, and of wrecked and ruined virtue, in order to overturn the doctrine of _particular providence_; contending, that as no family or state can be supposed to be formed with any judgment or discipline, if there are no rewards for good actions, or punishment for bad, so we cannot believe that a Divine Providence regulates the world, when there is no distinction between the honest and the wicked.

“This,” concludes Cotta, “is the purport of what I had to say concerning the nature of the gods, not with a design to destroy their existence, but merely to show what an obscure point it is, and with what difficulties an explanation of it is attended.” Balbus observing that Cotta had finished his discourse, “You have been very severe,” says he, “against the being of a Divine Providence, a doctrine established by the Stoics, with piety and wisdom; but, as it grows too late, I shall defer my answer to another day.”—“There is nothing,” replied Cotta, “I desire more than to be confuted.”—“The conversation ended here, and we parted. Velleius judged that the arguments of Cotta were the truest, but those of Balbus seemed to me to have the greater probability.”

It seems likely that this profession or pretext, that the discourse is left unfinished, may (like the occasional apologies of Cotta) be introduced to save appearances(437). It is evident, however, that Cicero intended to add, at least, new prefaces to the two latter books of this work, probably from suspecting, as he went on, that the discourses are too long to have taken place in one day, as they are now represented. Balbus says, in the second book, “Velut a te ipso, hesterno die dictum est(438).” Fulvius Ursinus had remarked that this was an inadvertence, either in Cicero or a transcriber, as the discourse is continued throughout the same day. That it was not owing to a transcriber, or to any inadvertence in Cicero, but to a design of altering the introductions to the second and third books, appears from a passage in book third, where Cotta says to Balbus, “Omniaque, quæ a te _nudiustertius_ dicta sunt(439).” Now, it is extremely unlikely that there should have been two such instances of inadvertency in the author, or carelessness in the copyist.

The work on the Nature of the Gods, though in many respects a most valuable production, and a convincing proof of the extensive learning of its author, gives a melancholy picture of the state of his mind. Unfitted to bear adversity, and borne down by the calamities of his country, and the death of his beloved daughter, (misfortunes of which he often complains,) Cicero seems to have become a sceptic, and occasionally to have doubted even of a superintending Providence. Warburton appears to be right in supposing, that Cicero was advanced in years before he seriously adopted the sceptical opinions of the new Academy. “This farther appears,” says he, after some remarks on this head, “from a place in his Nature of the Gods, where he says, that his espousing the new Academy of a sudden, was a thing altogether unlooked for(440). The change, then, was late, and after the ruin of the republic, when Cicero retired from business, and had leisure in his recess to plan and execute this noble undertaking. So that a learned critic appears to have been mistaken, when he supposed the choice of the new Academy was made in his youth. ‘This sect,’ says he, ‘did best agree with the vast genius, and ambitious spirit, of _young Cicero_(441).’ ”

It appears not, however, to have been, as Warburton supposes, altogether from a systematic plan, of explaining to his countrymen the philosophy of the Greeks, that Cicero became a sceptic; but partly from gloomy views of nature and providence. It seems difficult otherwise to account for the circumstance, that Cotta, an ancient and venerable Consul, the _Pontifex_ of the metropolis of the world, should be introduced as contending, even against an Epicurean, for the non-existence of the gods. Lord Bolingbroke has justly remarked, “that Cotta disputes so vehemently, and his arguments extend so far, that Tully makes his own brother accuse him directly, and himself by consequence indirectly, of atheism.—‘Studio contra Stoicos disserendi deos mihi videtur funditus tollere.’ Now, what says Tully in his own name? He tells his brother that Cotta disputes in that manner, rather to confute the Stoics than to destroy the religion of mankind.—‘Magis quam ut hominum deleat religionem.’ But Quintus answers, that is, Tully makes him answer, he was not the bubble of an artifice, employed to save the appearance of departing from the public religious institutions. ‘Ne communi jure migrare videatur(442).’ ” Cotta, indeed, goes so far in his attack on Providence, that Lord Bolingbroke, who is not himself a model of orthodoxy, takes up the other side of the question against the Roman Pontiff, and pleads the cause of Providence with no little reason and eloquence.(443)

In the foregoing analysis, or abridgment of the work on the Nature of the Gods, it will have been remarked, that two chasms occur in the argument of Cotta. Olivet enters into some discussion with regard to the latter and larger chasm. “I cannot,” says he, “see any justice in the accusation against the primitive Christians, of having torn this passage out of all the MSS. What appearance is there, that through a pious motive they should have erased this any more than many others in the same book, which they must undoubtedly have looked upon as no less pernicious?” Olivet seems inclined to suspect the Pagans; but, in my opinion, the chasms in the discourse of Cotta, if not accidental, are to be attributed rather to Christian than pagan zeal. Arnobius, indeed, speaking of this work, says, That many were of opinion that it ought to have been destroyed by the Roman Senate, as the Christian faith might be approved by it, and the authority of antiquity subverted(444). There is no evidence, however, that any such destruction or mutilation was attempted by the Pagans; and we find that the satire directed against the heathen deities has been permitted to remain, while the chasms intervene in portions of the work, which might have been supposed by a pious zealot, to bear, in some measure, against the Christian, as well as the Pagan faith. In the first of them, the Pontifex begins, and is proceeding to contend, that in spite of Acts of the Senate, temples, statues, and other commemorations of miraculous circumstances, all such prodigies were nothing but mere fables, however solemnly attested, or generally believed. Now, the transcriber might fear, lest a similar inference should be drawn by the sceptic, to that which has in fact been deduced by the English translator of this work, in the following passage of a note:—“Hence we see what little credit ought to be paid to facts, said to be done out of the ordinary course of nature. These miracles are well attested: They were recorded in the annals of a great people—believed by many learned and otherwise sagacious persons, and received as religious truths by the populace; but the testimonies of ancient records, the credulity of some learned men, and the implicit faith of the vulgar, can never prove that to have been, which is impossible in the nature of things ever to be.” At the beginning of the other and larger chasm, Cotta was proceeding to argue against the proposition of the Stoics, that there is a Divine Providence which governs the world. Now, there is a considerable analogy between the system of the ancient Stoics, and the Christian scheme of Providence, both in the theoretical doctrine, and in the practical inference, of the propriety of a cheerful and unqualified submission to the chain of events—to the dispensations of nature in the Stoical, and of God in the purer doctrine. To Christian zeal, therefore, rather than to pagan prudence, we must attribute the two chasms which now intervene in the discourse of Cotta.

In the remarks which have been now offered on this work, _De Naturâ Deorum_, I trust I have brought no unfounded or uncharitable accusation against Cicero. He was a person, at least in his own age and country, of unrivalled talents and learning—he was a great, and, on the whole, a good man—but his mind was sensitive, and feeble against misfortune. There are æras, and monuments perhaps in every æra, when we are ready to exclaim with Brutus, “That virtue is an empty name:” And the doubts and darkness of such a mind as that of Cicero, enriched with all the powers of genius, and all the treasures of philosophy, afford a new proof of the necessity for the appearance of that Divine Messenger, who was then on the eve of descending upon earth.

_De Divinatione_.—The long account which has been given of the dialogue on the Nature of the Gods, renders it unnecessary to say much on the work _De Divinatione_. This treatise may be considered, in some measure, as a supplement to that _De Naturâ Deorum_. The religion of the Romans consisted of two different branches—the worship of the gods, and the observation of the signs by which their will was supposed to be revealed. Cicero having already discussed what related to the nature and worship of the gods, a treatise on Divination formed a natural continuation of the subject(445). In his work on this topic, which was one almost peculiar to the Romans, Cicero professes to relate the substance of a conversation held at Tusculum with his brother, in which Quintus, on the principles of the Stoics, supported the credibility of divination, while Cicero himself controverted it. The dialogue consists of two books, the first of which comprehends an enumeration by Quintus of the different kinds or classes of divination, with the reasons or presumptions in their favour. The second book contains a refutation by Cicero of his brother’s arguments.

Quintus, while walking with his brother in the Lyceum at Tusculum, begins his observations by stating, that he had read the third book which Cicero had lately written, on the Nature of the Gods, in which Cotta seemed to contend for atheism, but had by no means been able to refute Balbus. He remarks, at the same time, that the subject of divination had not been treated of in these books, perhaps in order that it might be separately discussed more fully, and that he would gladly, if his brother had leisure and inclination, state his own opinions on the subject. The answer of Cicero is very noble.—“Ego vero, inquam, Philosophiæ, Quinte, semper vaco. Hoc autem tempore, quum sit nihil aliud quod libenter agere possim multo magis aveo audire de divinatione quid sentias.”

Quintus, after observing that divinations of various kinds have been common among all people, remarks, and afterwards frequently repeats, that it is no argument against different modes of divination, that we cannot explain how or why certain things happen. It is sufficient, that we know from experience and history, that they do happen(446). He contends that Cicero himself supports the doctrine of divination, in the poem on his Consulship, from which he quotes a long passage, sufficient to console us for the loss of that work. He argues, that although events may not always succeed as predicted, it does not follow that divination is not an art, more than that medicine is not an art, because cures may not always be effected. In the course of this book we have a complete account of the state contrivances which were practised by the Roman government, to instil among the people those hopes and fears whereby it regulated public opinion, in which view it has been justly termed a chapter in the history of man. The great charm, however, of the first book, consists in the number of histories adduced by Quintus, in proof of the truth of different kinds of omens, dreams, portents, and divinations.—“Negemus omnia,” says he, “comburamus annales.” He states various circumstances consistent with his and his brother’s own knowledge; and, among others, two remarkable dreams, one of which had occurred to Cicero, and one to himself. He asks if the Greek history be also a fable.—“Num etiam Græcorum historia mentita est?” and, in short, throughout takes the following high ground:—“Quid est, igitur, cur dubitandum sit, quin sint ea, quæ disputavi, verissima? Si ratio mecum facit, si eventa, si populi, si nationes, si Græci, si barbari, si majores etiam nostri, si summi philosophi, si poetæ, et sapientissimi viri qui res publicas constituerunt, qui urbes condiderunt; si denique hoc semper ita putatum est: an dum bestiæ loquantur, expectamus, hominum consentiente auctoritate, contenti non sumus(447)?”

The second book of this work is introduced by a preface, in which Cicero enumerates the philosophical treatises which he had lately written. He then proceeds to state, that at the conclusion of the discourse of Quintus, which was held while they were walking in the Lyceum, they sat down in the library, and he began to reply to his brother’s arguments. His commencement is uncommonly beautiful.—“Atque ego; Accurate tu quidem, inquam, Quinte, et Stoice Stoicorum sententiam defendisti: quodque me maxime delectat, plurimis nostris exemplis usus es, et iis quidem claris et illustribus. Dicendum est mihi igitur ad ea, quæ sunt a te dicta, sed ita, nihil ut affirmem, quæram omnia, dubitans plerumque, et mihi ipse diffidens(448).” It is unnecessary to give any summary of the arguments of Cicero against auguries, auspices, astrology, lots, dreams, and every species of omens and prodigies. His discourse is a masterpiece of reasoning; and if sufficiently studied during the dark ages of Europe, would have sufficed, in a great degree, to have prevented or dispelled the superstitious gloom. Nothing can be finer than the concluding chapter on the evils of superstition, and Cicero’s efforts to extirpate it, without injuring religion. The whole thread, too, of his argumentative eloquence, is interwoven and strengthened by curious and interesting stories. As a specimen of the agreeable manner in which these are introduced, the twenty-fourth chapter may be cited:—“Vetus autem illud Catonis admodum scitum est, qui mirari se aiebat, quod non rideret haruspex, haruspicem quum vidisset. Quota enim quæque res evenit prædicta ab ipsis? Aut si evenit quippiam, quid afferri potest, cur non casu id evenerit? Rex Prusias, quum Annibali apud eum exsulanti depugnari placeret, negabat se audere, quod exta prohiberent. An tu, inquit, carunculæ vitulinæ mavis, quam imperatori veteri, credere? Quid? Ipse Cæsar, quum a summo haruspice moneretur, ne in Africam ante brumam transmitteret, nonne transmisit? Quod ni fecisset, uno in loco omnes adversariorum copiæ convenissent. Quid ego haruspicum responsa commemorem, (possum equidem innumerabilia,) quæ aut nullos habuerunt exitus, aut contrarios? Hoc civili bello, Dii Immortales! Quam multa luserunt—quæ nobis in Græciam Româ responsa haruspicum missa sunt? Quæ dicta Pompeio? Etenim ille admodum extis et ostentis movebatur. Non lubet commemorare, nec vero necesse est, tibi præsertim, qui interfuisti. Vides tamen, omnia fere contra, ac dicta sunt, evenisse.” One great charm of all the philosophical works of Cicero, and particularly of this treatise, consists in the anecdotes with which they abound. This practice of intermingling histories, might have been partly owing to Tully’s habits as a pleader—partly to the works having been composed in “narrative old age.” His moral conclusions seem thus occasionally to have the certainty of physical experiments, by the support which they receive from occurrences, suggested to him by his wide experience; while, at the same time,—

“His candid style, like a clean stream doth slide,
And his bright fancy, all the way,
Doth like the sun-shine on it play(449).”

_De Fato_.—This tract, which is the last of Cicero’s philosophical works, treats of a subject which occupied as important a place in the metaphysics and theology of the ancients, as free will and necessity have filled in modern speculation. The dialogue _De Fato_ is held in the villa of Cicero, called the Puteolan or the Academia, which was situated on the shore of Baiæ, between the lake Avernus and the harbour of Puteoli. It stood in the curve of the bay, and almost on the beach, so as to enjoy the breezes and murmurs of the sea. The house was built according to the plan of the Academy at Athens, being adorned with a portico and grove, for the purposes of philosophical conference(450); and with a gallery, which surrounded a square court in the centre. “Twelve or thirteen arches of the Puteolan villa,” says Mr Kelsall, “are still seen on the side next the vineyard, and, intermixed as they are with trees, are very picturesque seen from the sea. These ruins are about one mile from Pozzuolo, and have always been styled _l’Academia di Cicerone_. Pliny is very circumstantial in the description of the site, ‘_Ab Averno lacu Puteolos tendentibus imposita littori_.’ The classical traveller will not forget that the Puteolan villa is the scene of some of the orator’s philosophical works. I searched in vain for the mineral spring commemorated by Laurea Tullius, in the well-known complimentary verses preserved by Pliny; for it was defaced by the convulsions which the whole of this tract experienced in the 16th century, so poetically described in Gray’s hexameters.” After the death of Cicero, the villa was acquired by Antistius Vetus, who repaired and improved it. It was subsequently possessed by the Emperor Hadrian, who, while expiring here(451), breathed out the celebrated address to his fleeting, fluttering soul, on its approaching departure for those cold and pallid regions, that must have formed in his fancy such a gloomy contrast to the glowing sunshine and animated shore which he left with so much reluctance.

The dialogue is held between Cicero and Hirtius, on one of the many occasions on which they met to consult concerning the situation of public affairs. Hirtius was the author of the Commentaries on the Civil Wars, and perished a few months afterwards, at the battle of Modena, in the moment of victory. The wonderful events which had recently occurred, and the miserable fate of so many of the greatest and most powerful of the Romans, naturally introduced a conversation on destiny. We have now neither the commencement nor conclusion of the dialogue; but some critics have supposed that it originally consisted of two books, and that the fragment we at present possess formed part of the second book—an opinion which seems justified by a passage in the seventeenth chapter of the second book, where the first conversation is cited. Others, however, refer these words to a separate and previous work on Fate. The part of the dialogue now extant, contains a refutation of the doctrine of Chrysippus the Stoic, which was that of fatality. “The spot,” says Eustace, “the subject, the speakers, both fated to perish in so short a time, during the contest which they both foresaw, and endeavoured in vain to avert, were circumstances which give a peculiar interest to this dialogue, and increase our regret that it has not reached us in a less mutilated state(452).”

I have now enumerated what may be strictly regarded as the philosophical and theological writings of Cicero. Some of the advantages to be derived from these productions, have already been pointed out during our progress. But on a consideration of the whole, it is manifest that the chief profit accruing from them, is the satisfactory evidence which they afford of the little reason we have to regret the loss of the writings of Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and other Greek philosophers. The intrinsic value of these works of Cicero, consists chiefly in what may be called the Roman portion of them—in the anecdotes of distinguished Romans, and of the customs and opinions of that sovereign people.