CICERO (continued 3)

“Art, Glory, Freedom, fail—but Nature still is fair.”

The first conference, De Legibus, is held in a walk on the banks of the Fibrenus; the other two in the island which it formed, and which Cicero called Amalthea, from a villa belonging to Atticus in Epirus. These three books are all that are now extant. It appears, however, that, at the commencement of the fifth dialogue, the sun having then passed the meridian, and its beams striking in such a direction that the speakers were no longer sheltered from its rays by the young plane-trees, which had been recently planted, they left the island, and descending to the banks of the Liris, finished their discourse under the shade of the alder-trees, which stretched their branches over its margin412.

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An ancient oak, which stood in Cicero’s pleasure-grounds, led Atticus to inquire concerning the augury which had been presented to Marius, a native of Arpinum, from that very oak, and which Cicero had celebrated in a poem devoted to the exploits of his ferocious countryman, Cicero hints, that the portent was all a fiction; which leads to a discussion on the difference between poetry and history, and the poverty of Rome in the latter department. As Cicero, owing to the multiplicity of affairs, had not then leisure to supply this deficiency, he is requested by his guests, to give them, in the meanwhile, a dissertation on Laws—a subject with which he was so conversant, that he could require no previous preparation. It is agreed, that he should not treat of particular or arbitrary laws,—as those concerning Stillicide, and the forms of judicial procedure—but should trace the philosophic principles of jurisprudence to their remotest sources. From this recondite investigation he excludes the Epicureans, who decline all care of the republic, and bids them retire to their gardens. He entreats that the new Academy should be silent, since her bold objections would soon destroy the fair and well-ordered structure of his lofty system. Zeno, Aristotle, and the immediate followers of Plato, he represents as the teachers who best prepare a citizen for performing the duties of social life. Them he professes chiefly to follow; and, in conformity with their system, he announces in the first book, which treats of laws in general, that man being linked to a supreme God by reason and virtue, and the whole species being associated by a communion of feelings and interests, laws are alike founded on divine authority and natural benevolence.

According to this sublime hypothesis, the whole universe forms one immense commonwealth of gods and men, who participate of the same essence, and are members of the same community. Reason prescribes the law of nature and nations; and all positive institutions, however modified by accident or custom, are drawn from the rule of right which the Deity has inscribed on every virtuous mind. Some actions, therefore, are just in their own nature, and ought to be performed, not because we live in a society where positive laws punish those who pay no regard to them, but for the sake of that equity which accompanies them, independently of human ordinances. These principles may be applicable to laws in a certain sense; but, in fact, it is rather moral right and justice than laws that the author discusses—for bad or pernicious laws he does not admit to be laws at all. To do justice, to love mer[pg 228]cy, and to worship God with a pure heart, were, doubtless, laws in his meaning, (that is, they were right,) previous to their enactment, and no human enactment to the contrary could abrogate them. His principles, however, apply to laws in this sense, and not to arbitrary civil institutions.

Having, in the first discourse, laid open the origin of laws, and source of obligations, he proceeds, in the remaining books, to set forth a body of laws conformable to his own plan and ideas of a well-ordered state;—announcing, in the first place, those which relate to religion and the worship of the gods; secondly, such as prescribe the duties and powers of magistrates. These laws are, for the most part, taken from the ancient government and customs of Rome, with some little modification calculated to obviate or heal the disorders to which the republic was liable, and to give its constitution a stronger bias in favour of the aristocratic faction. The species of instruction communicated in these two books, has very little reference to the sublime and general principles with which the author set out. Many of his laws are arbitrary municipal regulations. The number of the magistrates, the period of the duration of their offices, with the suffrages and elections in the Comitia, were certainly not founded in the immutable laws of God or nature; and the discussion concerning them has led to the belief, that the second and third books merely comprehended a collection of facts, from which general principles were to be subsequently deduced.

At the end of the third book it is mentioned, that the executive power of the magistracy, and rights of the Roman citizens, still remain to be discussed. In what number of books this plan was accomplished, is uncertain. Macrobius, as we have seen, quotes the fifth book413; and Goerenz thinks it probable there were six,—the fourth being on the executive power, the fifth on public, and the sixth on private rights.

What authors Cicero chiefly followed and imitated in his work De Legibus, has been a celebrated controversy since the time of Turnebus. It seems now to be pretty well settled, that, in substance and principles, he followed the Stoics; but that he imitated Plato in the style and dress in which he arrayed his sentiments and opinions. That philosopher, as is well known, after writing on government in general, drew up a body of laws adapted to that particular form of it which he had delineated. In like manner, Cicero chose to deliver his sentiments, not by translating Plato, but by imitating his manner [pg 229]in the explication of them, and adapting everything to the constitution of his own country. The Stoic whom he principally followed, was probably Chrysippus, who wrote a book Περι Νομου414, some passages of which are still extant, and exhibit the outlines of the system adopted in the first book De Legibus. What of general discussion appears in the third book is taken from Theophrastus, Dio, and Panætius the Stoic.

De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum.—This work is a philosophical account of the various opinions entertained by the Greeks concerning the Supreme Good and Extreme Evil, and is by much the most subtle and difficult of the philosophic writings of Cicero. It consists of five books, of that sort of dialogue, in which, as in the treatise De Oratore, the discourse is not dramatically represented, but historically related by the author. The constant repetition of “said I,” and “says he,” is tiresome and clumsy, and not nearly so agreeable as the dramatic form of dialogue, where the names of the different speakers are alternately prefixed, as in a play. The whole is addressed to Marcus Brutus in an Introduction, where the author excuses his study of philosophy, which some persons had blamed as unbecoming his character and dignity. The conference in the first two books is supposed to be held at Cicero’s Cuman villa, which was situated on the hills of old Cumæ, and commanded a prospect of the Campi Phlegræi, the bay of Puteoli, with its islands, the Portus Misenus the harbour of the Roman fleet, and Baiæ, the retreat of the most wealthy patricians. Here Cicero received a visit from Lucius Torquatus, a confirmed Epicurean, and from a young patrician, Caius Triarius, who is a mute in the ensuing colloquy. Torquatus engages their host in philosophical discussion, by requesting to know his objections to the Epicurean system. These Cicero states generally; but Torquatus, in his answer, confines himself to the question of the Supreme Good, which he placed in pleasure. This tenet he supports on the principle, that, of all things, Virtue is the most pleasurable; that we ought to follow its laws, in consequence of the serenity and satisfaction arising from its practice; and that honourable toil, or even pain, are not always to be avoided, as they often prove necessary means towards obtaining the most exquisite gratifications. Cicero, in his refutation, which is contained in the second book, gives rather a different representation of the philosophy of Epicurus, from his great poetic contemporary Lucretius. The term ἡδονη, (voluptas,) used by Epicurus to express his Supreme Good, can only, as Cicero maintains, mean sensual [pg 230]enjoyment, and can never be so interpreted as to denote tranquillity of mind. But supposing virtue to be cultivated merely as productive of pleasure, or as only valuable because agreeable—a cheat, who had no remorse or conscience, might enjoy the summum bonum in defrauding a rightful owner of his property; and no act would thus be accounted criminal, if it escaped the brand of public infamy. On the other hand, if pain be accounted the Supreme Evil, how can any man enjoy felicity, when this greatest of all misfortunes may at any moment seize him!

In the third and fourth books, the scene of the dialogue is changed. In order to inspect some books of Aristotelian philosophy, Cicero walks over to the villa of young Lucullus, to whom he had been appointed guardian, by the testament of his illustrious father. Here he finds Cato employed in perusing certain works of Stoical authors; and a discussion arises on that part of the Stoical system, relating to the Supreme Good, which Cato placed in virtue alone. Cicero, in his answer to Cato, attempts to reconcile this tenet with the doctrines of the Academic philosophy, which he himself professed, by showing that the difference between them consisted only in the import affixed to the term good—the Academic sect assigning a pre-eminence to virtue, but admitting that external advantages are good also in their decree. Now, the Stoics would not allow them to be good, but merely valuable, eligible, or preferable; so that the sects could be reconciled in sentiments, if the terms were a little changed. The Academical system is fully developed in the fifth book, in a dialogue held within the Academy; and, at the commencement, the associations which that celebrated, though then solitary spot, was calculated to awaken are finely described. “I see before me,” says Piso, “the perfect form of Plato, who was wont to dispute in this very place: These gardens not only recall him to my memory, but present his very person to my senses—I fancy to myself that here stood Speusippus—there Xenocrates—and here, on this bench, sat his disciple Polemo. To me, our ancient Senate-house seems peopled with the like visionary forms; for often when I enter it, the shades of Scipio, of Cato, and of Lælius, and, in particular, of my venerable grandfather, rise up to my imagination.” Here Piso, who was a great Platonist, gives an account, in the presence of Cicero and Cicero’s brother Quintus, of the hypothesis of the old Academy concerning moral good, which was also that adopted by the Peripatetics. According to this system, the summum bonum consists in the highest improvement of all the mental and bodily faculties. The perfection, in short, of everything [pg 231]consistent with nature, enters into the composition of supreme felicity. Virtue, indeed, is the highest of all things, but other advantages must also be valued according to their worth. Even pleasures become ingredients of happiness, if they be such as are included in the prima naturæ, or primary advantages of nature. Cicero seems to approve this system, and objects only to one of the positions of Piso, That a wise man must be always happy. Our author thus contrasts with each other the different systems of Greek philosophy, particularly the Epicurean with the Stoical tenets; and hence, besides, refuting them in his own person, he makes the one baffle the other, till he arrives at what is most probable, the utmost length to which the middle or new Academy pretended to reach. The chief part of the work De Finibus, is taken from the best writings of the different philosophers whose doctrines he explains. The first book closely follows the tract of Epicurus, Κυριων δοξων. Cicero’s second book, in which he refutes Epicurism, is borrowed from the stoic Chrysippus, who wrote ten books Of the beautiful, and of pleasure, (Περι τοῦ καλοῦ και της ἡδονης,) wherein he canvassed the Epicurean tenets concerning the Supreme Good and Evil. His third book is derived from a treatise of the same Chrysippus, entitled Περι τελων415. The fourth, where he refutes the Stoics, is from the writings of Polemo, who, following the example of his master Xenocrates, amended the Academic doctrines, and nearly accommodated them on this subject of Good and Evil to the opinions of the ancient Peripatetics. Some works of Antiochus of Ascalon, who, in the time of Cicero, was the head of the old Academy, supplied the materials for the concluding dialogue.

The work De Finibus was written in 708, and though begun subsequently to the Academica, was finished before it. The period, however, of the three different conferences of which it consists, is laid a considerable time before the date of its publication. It is evident that the first dialogue is supposed to be held in 703, since Torquatus, the principal speaker, who perished in the civil war, is mentioned as Prætor Designatus, and this prætorship he bore in the year 704. The following conference is placed subsequently, at least, to the death of the great Lucullus, who died in 701. The last dialogue is carried more than thirty years back, being laid in 674, when Cicero was in his twenty-seventh year, and was attending the lessons of the Athenian philosophers. For this change, the reason seems to have been, that as Piso was the fittest person whom the author could find to support the doctrines of the [pg 232]old Academy, and as he had renounced his friendship during the time of the disturbances occasioned by the Clodian faction, it became necessary to place the conference at a period when they were fellow-students at Athens. The critics have observed some anachronisms in this last book, in making Piso refer to the other two dialogues, of which he had no share, and could have had no knowledge, as being held at a later period than that of the conference he attended.

Academica.—This work is termed Academica, either because it chiefly relates to the Academic philosophy, or because it was composed at the villa of Puteoli, where a grove and portico were called by Cicero, from an affected imitation of the Athenians, his Academy416. There evidently existed what may be termed two editions of the Academica, neither of which we now possess perfect—what we have being the second book of the first edition, and the first of the second. In the first edition, the speakers were Cicero himself, Catulus, Lucullus, and Hortensius. The first book was inscribed Catulus, and the second Lucullus, these persons being the chief interlocutors in their respective divisions. The first dialogue, or Catulus, was held in the villa of that senator. Every word of it is unfortunately lost, but the import may be gathered, from the references to it in the Lucullus, or second book, which is still extant. It appears to have contained a sketch of the history of the old and the new Academy, and then to have entered minutely into the doctrines and principles of the latter, to which Catulus was attached. Catulus explained them as they had been delivered by Carneades, whose lectures his father had attended, and in his old age imparted their substance to his son. He refuted the philosophy of Philo, where that writer differed from Carneades, (which, though of the new Academy, he did in some particulars,) and also the opinions of Antiochus, who followed the old Academy. Hortensius seems to have made a short reply, but the more ample discussion of the system of the old Academy was reserved for Lucullus. Previous, however, to entering on this topic, our philosophers pass over from the Cuman villa of Catulus to that of Hortensius, at Bauli, one of the many magnificent seats belonging to that orator, and situated a little above the luxurious Baiæ, in the direction towards Cumæ, on an inlet of the Bay of Naples. Here they had resolved to remain till a favourable breeze should spring up, which might carry Lucullus to his Neapolitan, and Cicero to his Pompeian villa. While awaiting this opportunity, they repaired to an open gallery, which looked towards [pg 233]the sea, whence they descried the vessels sailing across the bay, and the ever changeful hue of its waters, which appeared of a saffron colour under the morning beam, but became azure at noon, till, as the day declined, they were rippled by the western breeze, and empurpled by the setting sun417. Here Lucullus commenced his defence of the old Academy, and his disputation against Philo, according to what he had learned from the philosopher Antiochus, who had accompanied him to Alexandria, when he went there as Quæstor of Egypt. While residing in that city, two books of Philo arrived, which excited the philosophic wrath of Antiochus, and gave rise to much oral discussion, as well as to a book from his pen, entitled Sosus, in which he attempted to refute the doctrines so boldly promulgated by Philo. Lucullus was thus enabled fully and faithfully to detail the arguments of the chief supporter and reviver in those later ages of the old Platonic Academy. His discourse is chiefly directed against that leading principle of the new Academy, which taught that nothing can be known or ascertained. Recurring to nature, and the constitution of man, he confirms the faith we have in our external senses, and the mental conclusions deduced from them. To this Cicero replies, from the writings of Clitomachus, and of course enlarges on the delusion of the senses—the false appearances we behold in sleep, or while under the influence of phrensy, and the uncertainty of everything so fully demonstrated by the different opinions of the great philosophers, on the most important of all subjects, the Providence of the Gods—the Supreme Good and Evil, and the formation of the world.

These two books, the Catulus and Lucullus, of which, as already mentioned, the last alone is extant, were written after the termination of the civil wars, and a copy of them sent by Cicero to Atticus. It occurred, however, to the author soon afterwards, that the characters introduced were not very suitable to the subjects discussed, since Catulus and Lucullus, though both ripe scholars, and well-educated men, could not, as statesmen and generals, be supposed to be acquainted with all the minutiæ of philosophic controversy contained in the books bearing their names. While deliberating if he should not rather put the dialogue into the lips of Cato and Brutus, he received a letter from Atticus, acknowledging the present of his work, but mentioning that their common friend, Varro, was displeased to find that none of his treatises were addressed to him, or inscribed with his name. This intimation, and the [pg 234]incongruity of the former characters with the subject, determined the author to dedicate the work to Varro, and to make him the principal speaker in the dialogue418. This change, and the reflection, perhaps, on certain defects in the arrangement of the old work, as also the discovery of considerable omissions, particularly with regard to the tenets of Arcesilaus, the founder of the new academy, induced him to remodel the whole, to add in some places, to abridge in others, and to bestow on it more lustre and polish of style. In this new form, the Academica consisted of four books, a division which was better adapted for treating his subject: But of these four, only the first remains. The dialogue it contains is supposed to be held during a visit which Atticus and Cicero paid to Varro, in his villa near Cumæ. His guests entreat him to give an account of the principles of the old Academy, from which Cicero and Atticus had long since withdrawn, but to which Varro had continued steadily attached. This first book probably comprehends the substance of what was contained in the Catulus of the former edition. Varro, in complying with the request preferred to him, deduces the origin of the old Academy from Socrates; he treats of its doctrines as relating to physics, logic, and morals, and traces its progress under Plato and his legitimate successors. Cicero takes up the discourse when this historical account is brought down to Arcesilaus, the founder of the new Academy. But the work is broken off in the most interesting part, and just as the author is entering on the life and lectures of Carneades, who introduced the new Academy at Rome. Cicero, however, while he styles it the new Academy, will scarcely allow it to be new, as it was in fact the most genuine exposition of those sublime doctrines which Plato had imbibed from Socrates. The historical sketch of the Academic philosophy having been nearly concluded in the first book, the remaining books, which are lost, contained the disputatious part. In the second book the doctrines of Arcesilaus were explained; and from one of the few short fragments preserved, there appears to have been a discussion concerning the remarkable changes that occur in the colour of objects, and the complexion of individuals, in consequence of the alterations they undergo in position or age, which was one of Arcesilaus’ chief arguments against the certainty of evidence derived from the senses. The third and fourth books probably contained the doctrines of Carneades and Philo, with Varro’s refutation of them, according to the principles of Antiochus. From a fragment of [pg 235]the third book, preserved by Nonius, it appears that the scene of the dialogue was there transferred to the banks of the Lucrine lake, which lay in the immediate vicinity of Varro’s Cuman villa419.

These four books formed the work which Cicero wished to be considered as the genuine and improved Academics. The former edition, however, which he had sent to Atticus, had gone abroad, and as he could not recall it, he resolved to complete it, by prefixing an introductory eulogy of Catulus to the first, and of Lucullus to the second book,—extolling, in particular, the incredible genius of the latter, which enabled him, though previously inexperienced in the art of war, merely by conversation and study, during his voyage from Rome, to land on the coast of Asia, with the acquirements of a consummate commander, and to extort the admission from his antagonist, Mithridates, who had coped with Sylla, that he was the first of warriors.

This account of the two editions of the Academics, which was first suggested by Talæus420, has been adopted by Goerenz421; and it appears to me completely confirmed by the series of Cicero’s letters to Atticus, contained in the 13th book of his Epistles. It is by no means, however, unanimously assented to by the French and German commentators. Lambinus, seeing that Nonius quoted, as belonging to the fourth book of the Academica, passages which we find in the Lucullus, or second book of the first edition, considered and inscribed it as the fourth of the new edition, instead of the second of the old, in which he was followed by many subsequent editors; but this is easily accounted for, since the new edition, being remodelled on the old, many things in the last or second book of the old edition would naturally be transferred to the fourth or last of the new, and be so cited by those grammarians who wrote when the whole work was extant. Ranitz denies that there ever were two editions of the Academica made public, or preserved, and that, so far from the last three books being lost, the Lucullus contains the whole of these three, but from the error of transcribers they have been run into each other422. This critic is right, indeed, in the notion he entertains, that Cicero wished the first edition of the Academica to be destroyed, or to fall into oblivion, but it does not follow that [pg 236]either of these wishes was accomplished; and indeed it is proved, from Cicero’s own letters, that the older edition had passed into extensive circulation.

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 World423.” 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 Cicero424.”

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 [pg 237]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 Mount425. 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 it426. 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 relief427.

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 ruins428. But these, it would appear, have been still farther dilapidated since that period. “Scarce [pg 238]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 Tusculum430. 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 [pg 239]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 passed431. 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 [pg 240]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 re[pg 241]gions, 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 slave432. 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, [pg 242]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 [pg 243]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 Inquisition433.

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 hav[pg 244]ing 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 gods434.”

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 Stanley435.—“I have hitherto,” says Velleius, “rather exposed the dreams of dotards than the opinions of philosophers; and whoever considers how rashly [pg 245]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 [pg 246]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 atoms436. “He who believes this possible,” says he, “may [pg 247]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 ceremo[pg 248]nies 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, [pg 249]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.”

[pg 250]

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 appearances437. 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 est438.” 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 sunt439.” 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 for440. The change, then, was late, and after [pg 251]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 Cicero441.’ ”

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 videatur442.’ ” 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 [pg 252]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 subverted444. 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 [pg 253]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 subject445. 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 [pg 254]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 happen446. 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 sumus447?”

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 [pg 255]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 diffidens448.” 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,—

[pg 256]

“His candid style, like a clean stream doth slide,

And his bright fancy, all the way,

Doth like the sun-shine on it play449.”

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 conference450; 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 here451, 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 [pg 257]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 state452.”

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.

We now proceed to the moral writings of Cicero, of which the most important is the work De Officiis. The ancient Romans had but an imperfect notion of moral obligations; their virtues were more stern than amiable, and their ardent exclusive patriotism restricted the wide claims of philanthropy, on the one hand, and of domestic duties, on the other. Panætius, a Greek philosopher, who resided at Rome, in the time of Scipio, wrote a book entitled Περι Καθηκοντος. He divided his subject according to the threefold considerations which he conceived should operate in determining our resolutions with regard to the performance of moral duties; 1. Whether the thing itself be virtuous or shameful; 2. Whether it conduce to [pg 258]utility and the enjoyment of life; 3. What choice is to be made when an apparent utility seems to clash with virtue. Cicero followed nearly the same arrangement. In the first book he treats of what is virtuous in itself, and shows in what manner our duties are founded in morality and virtue—in the right perception of truth, justice, fortitude, and decorum; which four qualities are referred to as the constituent parts of virtue, and the sources from which all our duties are drawn. In the second book, the author enlarges on those duties which relate to utility, the improvement of life, and the means employed for the attainment of wealth and power. This division of the work principally regards political advancement, and the honourable means of gaining popularity, as generosity, courtesy, and eloquence. Thus far Cicero had, in all probability, closely followed the steps of Panætius. Garve, in his commentary on this work453, remarks, that it is quite clear, when he comes to the more subtle and philosophic parts of his subject, that Cicero translates from the Greek, and that he has not always found words in his own language to express the nicer distinctions of the Greek schools. The work of Panætius, however, was left imperfect, and did not treat of the third part of the subject, the choice and distinction to be made when there was a jarring or inconsistency between virtue and utility. On this topic, accordingly, Cicero was left to his own resources. The discussion, of course, relates only to the subordinate duties, as the true and undoubted honestum never can be put in competition with private advantage, or be violated for its sake. As to the minor duties, the great maxim inculcated is that nothing should be accounted useful or profitable but what is strictly virtuous, and that, in fact, there ought to be no separation of the principles of virtue and utility. Cicero enters into some discussion, however, and affords some rules to enable us to form a just estimate of both in cases of doubt, where seeming utility comes into competition with virtue. Accordingly, he proposes and decides a good many questions in casuistry, in order to fix in what situations one may seek private gain with honour. He takes his examples from Roman history, and particularly considers the case of Regulus in the obligation of his oath, and the advice which he gave to the Roman Senate. The author disclaims having been indebted to any preceding writers on this subject; but it appears, from what he afterwards states, that the sixth book of the work of Hecato, a scholar of Panætius, was full of ques[pg 259]tions of this kind: As, for example—If something must be thrown into the sea to lighten a vessel in a storm, whether one should sacrifice a valuable horse, or a worthless slave? Whether, if, during a shipwreck, a fool has got hold of a plank, a wise man ought to take it from him, if he be able? If one, unknowingly, receives bad money for his goods, may he pay it away to a third hand, after he is aware that it is bad? Diogenes, it seems, one of the three philosophic ambassadors who came to Rome from Athens, in the end of the sixth century, maintained the affirmative of this last proposition.

The subject being too extensive for dialogue, (the form of his other philosophical treatises,) the author has addressed the work De Officiis to his son, and has represented it as written for his instruction. “It is,” says Kelsall, “the noblest present ever made by a parent to a child.” Cicero declares, that he intended to treat in it of all the duties454; but it is generally considered to have been chiefly drawn up as a manual of political morality, and as a guide to young Romans of his son’s age and distinction, which might enable them to attain political eminence, and to tread with innocence and safety “the slippery steeps of power.”

De Senectute.——

“O Thou all eloquent, whose mighty mind

Streams from the depths of ages on mankind,

Streams like the day—who angel-like hast shed

Thy full effulgence on the hoary head;

Speaking in Cato’s venerable voice—

“Look up and faint not—faint not, but rejoice”—

From thy Elysium guide us455.”

The treatise De Senectute is not properly a dialogue, but a continued discourse, delivered by Cato the Censor, at the request of Scipio and Lælius. It is, however, one of the most interesting pieces of the kind which have descended to us from antiquity; and no reader can wonder that Cicero experienced such pleasure in its composition, that the delightful employment, not only, as he says, made him forget the infirmities of old age, but rendered that portion of existence agreeable. In consequence of the period of life to which Cicero had attained, at the time of its composition, and the circumstances in which he was then placed, it must, indeed, have been penned with peculiar interest and feeling. It was written by him in his 63d year, and is addressed to his friend Atticus, (who reached the same term of existence,) with a view of rendering to both the accumulating burdens of age as [pg 260]light as possible. In order to give his precepts the greater force, he represents them as delivered by the elder Cato, (while flourishing in the eighty-fourth year of a vigorous and useful old age,) on occasion of young Scipio and Lælius expressing their admiration at the wonderful ease with which he still bore the load of life. This affords the author an opportunity of entering into a full explanation of his ideas on the subject. His great object is to show that the closing period of life may be rendered, not only tolerable, but comfortable, by internal resources of happiness. He reduces those causes which are commonly supposed to constitute the infelicity of advanced age, under four general heads:—That it incapacitates from mingling in the affairs of the world—that it produces infirmities of body—that it disqualifies for the enjoyment of sensual gratifications—and that it brings us to the verge of death. Some of these supposed disadvantages, he maintains, are imaginary, and for any real pleasures of which old men are deprived, others more refined and higher may be substituted. The whole work is agreeably diversified and illustrated by examples of eminent Roman citizens, who had passed a respected and agreeable evening of life. Indeed, so much is said of those individuals who reached a happy old age, that it may rather be styled a Treatise on Old Men, than on Old Age. On the last point, the near approach of death, it is argued, conformably to the first book of the Tusculan Questions, that if death extinguish the soul’s existence, it is utterly to be disregarded, but much to be desired, if it convey her to a happier region. The apprehension of future punishment, as in the Tusculan Disputations, is laid entirely aside, and it is assumed as a principle, that, after death, we either shall not be miserable, or be superlatively happy. In other respects, the tract De Senectute almost seems a confutation of the first book of the Tusculan Questions, which is chiefly occupied in showing the wretchedness of long-protracted existence. The sentiments put into the mouth of Cato, are acknowledged by Cicero as his own; but, notwithstanding this, and also a more elegant and polished style of composition than could be expected from the Censor, many characteristics of his life, conversation, and manners, are brought before us—his talk is a little boastful, and his sternness, though softened down by old age into an agreeable gossipping garrulity, is still visible; and, on the whole, the discourse is so managed, that we experience, in reading it, something of that complaisant respect, which we feel in intercourse with a venerable old man, who has around him so much of the life to [pg 261]come, as to be purified at least from the grosser desires of this lower world.

It has been remarked as extraordinary, that, amidst the anxious enumeration of the comforts of age, those arising from domestic society are not mentioned by Cicero; but his favourite daughter Tullia was now no more, and the husband of Terentia, the father of Marcus Cicero, and the father-in-law of Dolabella, may have felt something on that subject, of which he was willing to spare himself the recollection. But though he has omitted what we number among its chief consolations, still he has represented advanced age under too favourable a view. He denies, for instance, that the memory is impaired by it—asserting, that everything continues to be remembered, in which we take an interest, for that no old man ever forgot where he had concealed his treasure. He has, besides, only treated of an old age distinguished by deeds or learning, terminating a life great and glorious in the eyes of men. The table of the old man whom he describes, is cheered by numerous friends, and his presence, wherever he appears, is hailed by clients and dependants. All his examples are drawn from the higher and better walks of life. In the venerable picture of the Censor, we have no traces of second childhood, or of the slippered pantaloon, or of that melancholy and almost frightful representation, in the tenth satire of Juvenal. But even persons of the station, and dignity, and talents of Cato, are, in old age, liable to weaknesses and misfortunes, with which the pleasing portrait, that Tully has drawn, is in no way disfigured:—

“In life’s last scene, what prodigies surprise,

Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!

From Marlborough’s eyes the tears of dotage flow,

And Swift expires a driveller and a show.”

The treatise De Senectute has been versified by Denham, under the title of Cato Major. The subject of the evils of old age is divided, as by Cicero, into four parts. “I can neither,” says he, in his preface, “call this piece Tully’s nor my own, being much altered from the original, not only by the change of the style, but by addition and subtraction.” In fact, the fine sentiments are Cicero’s—the doggerel English verse, into which he has converted Cicero’s classical prose, his own. The fourth part, on the approach of death, is that which is best versified.

This tract is also the model of the dialogue Spurinna, or the Comforts of Old Age, by Sir Thomas Bernard. Hough, Bishop of Worcester, who is in his ninetieth year at the date [pg 262]of the conference, supposed to be held in 1739, is the Cato of the dialogue. The other interlocutors are Gibson, Bishop of London, and Mr Lyttleton, subsequently Lord Lyttleton. After considering, in the same manner as Cicero, the disadvantages of old age, the English author proceeds to treat of its advantages, and the best mode of increasing its comforts. Many ideas and arguments are derived from Cicero; but among the consolations of advanced age, the promises of revelation concerning a future state of happiness, to which the Roman was a stranger, are prominently brought forward, and the illustrations are chiefly drawn from British, instead of Grecian or Roman history.

De Amicitiâ.—In this, as in all his other dialogues, Cicero has most judiciously selected the persons whom he introduces as speakers. They were men of eminence in the state; and though deceased, the Romans had such a just veneration for their ancestors, that they would listen with the utmost interest even to the supposed conversation of the ancient heroes or sages of their country. Such illustrious names bestowed additional dignity on what was delivered, and even now affect us with sentiments of veneration far superior to that which is felt for the itinerant sophists, who, with the exception of Socrates, are the chief speakers in the dialogues of Plato.

The memorable and hereditary friendship which subsisted between Lælius and the younger Scipio Africanus, rendered them the most suitable characters from whom the sentiments expressed on this delightful topic could be supposed to flow. Their mutual and unshaken attachment threw an additional lustre over the military glory of the one, and the contemplative wisdom of the other. “Such,” says Cicero in the introduction to the treatise De Republicâ, “was the common law of friendship between them, that Lælius adored Africanus as a god, on account of his transcendent military fame; and that Scipio, when they were at home, revered his friend, who was older than himself, as a father456.” The kindred soul of Cicero appears to have been deeply struck with this delightful assemblage of all the noblest and loveliest qualities of our nature. The friendship which subsisted between himself and Atticus was another beautiful example of a similar kind: And the dialogue De Amicitiâ is accordingly addressed with peculiar propriety to Atticus, who, as Cicero tells him in his dedication, could not fail to discover his own portrait in the delineation of [pg 263]a perfect friend. This treatise approaches nearer to dialogue than that De Senectute, for there is a story, with the circumstances of time and place. Fannius, the historian, and Mucius Scævola, the Augur, both sons-in-law of Lælius, paid him a visit immediately after the sudden and suspicious death of Scipio Africanus. The recent loss which Lælius had thus sustained, leads to an eulogy on the inimitable virtues of the departed hero, and to a discussion on the true nature of that tie by which they had been so long connected. Cicero, while in his earliest youth, had been introduced by his father to Mucius Scævola; and hence, among other interesting matters which he enjoyed an opportunity of hearing, he was one day present while Scævola related the substance of the conference on Friendship, which he and Fannius had held with Lælius a few days after the death of Scipio. Many of the ideas and sentiments which the mild Lælius then uttered, are declared by Scævola to have originally flowed from Scipio, with whom the nature and laws of friendship formed a favourite topic of discourse. This, perhaps, is not entirely a fiction, or merely told to give the stamp of authenticity to the dialogue. Some such conversation was probably held and related; and I doubt not, that a few of the passages in this celebrated dialogue reflect the sentiments of Lælius, or even of Africanus himself.

The philosophical works of Cicero, which have been hitherto enumerated, are complete, or nearly so. But it is well known that he was the author of many other productions which have now been entirely lost, or of which only fragments remain.

Of these, the most important was the Treatise De Republicâ, which, in the general wreck of learning, shared the fate of the institutions it was intended to celebrate. The greater part of this dialogue having disappeared along with the Origines of Cato, the works of Varro, and the History of Sallust, we have been deprived of all the writings which would have thrown the most light on the Roman institutions, manners, and government—of everything, in short, which philosophically traced the progress of Rome, from its original barbarism to the perfection which it had attained in the age of the second Scipio Africanus.

There are few monuments of ancient literature, of which the disappearance had excited more regret, than that of the work De Republicâ, which was long believed to have been the grand repository of all the political wisdom of the ancients. The great importance of the subject—treated, too, by a writer at once distinguished by his genius and former [pg 264]official dignity; the pride and predilection with which the author himself speaks of it, and the sublimity and beauty of the fragment entitled Somnium Scipionis, preserved from it by Macrobius, all concurred to exalt this treatise in the imagination of the learned, and to exasperate their vexation at its loss. The fathers of the church, particularly Lactantius, had afforded some insight into the arguments employed in it on different topics; several fragments existed in the works of the grammarians, and a complete copy was extant as late as the 11th century. Since that time the literary world have been flattered at different periods with hopes of its discovery; but it is only within the last few years that such a portion of it has been recovered, as may suffice, in a considerable degree, to satisfy curiosity, though not perhaps to fulfil expectation.

It is well known to many, and will be mentioned more fully in the Appendix, that owing to a scarcity of papyrus and parchment, it was customary, at different times, to erase old, in order to admit new, writing. To a MS. of this kind, the name of Palimpsest has been given—a term made use of by Cicero himself. In a letter to the lawyer Trebatius, who had written to him on such a sheet, Cicero says, “that while he must praise him for his parsimony in employing a palimpsest, he cannot but wonder what he had erased to scribble such a letter, except it were his law notes: For I cannot think,” adds he, “that you would efface my letter to substitute your own457.” This practice became very common in the middle ages, when both the papyrus and parchment were scarce, and when the classics were, with few exceptions, no longer the objects of interest. Montfaucon had remarked, that these obliterated MSS. were perhaps more numerous than those which had been written on for the first time458. But though in some cases the original writing was still visible on close observation, no practical use was made of such inspection till Angelo Mai published some fragments recovered from palimpsest MSS. in the Ambrosian library, of which he was keeper. Encouraged by his success, he persevered in this new pursuit, and published at intervals fragments of considerable value. At length, being called to Rome as a recompense for his learned labours, Mai prosecuted in the Vatican those noble researches which he had commenced at Milan; and it is to him we now owe the discovery and publication of a considerable portion of Cicero De Republicâ, which had been expunged, (it is supposed in [pg 265]the 6th century,) and crossed by a new writing, which contained a commentary by St Augustine on the Psalms459.