CHAPTER XIII.. The Relation of the Stoic Philosophy to Religion.

THE RELATION OF THE STOIC PHILOSOPHY TO RELIGION.

It would be impossible to give a full account of the philosophy of the Stoics without treating of their theology; for no early system is so closely connected with religion as that of the Stoics. Founded as is their whole view of the world upon the idea of one Divine Being, begetting from Himself and containing in Himself all finite creatures, upholding them by His might, ruling them according to an unalterable law, and thus manifesting Himself everywhere, their philosophy bears a decidedly religious character. Indeed, there is hardly a single prominent feature in the Stoic system which is not, more or less, connected with theology. A very considerable portion of that system, moreover, consists of strictly theological questions; such as arguments for the existence of deity, and for the rule of Providence; investigations into the nature of God, His government, and presence in the world; the relation of human activity to the divine ordinances; and all the various questions connected with the terms freedom and necessity. The natural science of the Stoics begins by evolving things from God; it ends with resolving them again into God. God is thus the beginning and end of the world’s development. In like manner, their moral philosophy begins with the notion of divine law, which, in the form of eternal reason, controls the actions of men; and ends by requiring submission to the will of God, and resignation to the course of the universe. A religious sanction is thus given to all moral duties. All virtuous actions are a fulfilment of the divine will and the divine law. That citizenship of the world, in particular, which constitutes the highest point in the Stoic morality, is connected with the notion of a common relationship of all men to God. Again, that inward repose of the philosopher, those feelings of freedom and independence, on which so much stress is laid, rest principally on the conviction that man is related to God. In a word, Stoicism is not only a system of philosophy, but also a system of religion. As such it was regarded by its first adherents, witness the fragments of Cleanthes; and as such it afforded, in later times, together with Platonism, to the best and most cultivated men, whenever the influence of Greek culture extended, a substitute for declining natural religion, a satisfaction for religious cravings, and a support for moral life.

This philosophic religion is quite independent of the traditional religion. The Stoic philosophy contains no feature of importance which we can pronounce with certainty to be taken from the popular faith. The true worship of God, according to their view, consists only in the mental effort to know God, and in a moral and pious life. A really acceptable prayer can have no reference to external goods; it can only have for its object a virtuous and devout

mind. Still, there were reasons which led the Stoics to seek a closer union with the popular faith. A system which attached so great an importance to popular opinion, particularly in proving the existence of God, could not, without extreme danger to itself, declare the current opinions respecting the Gods to be erroneous. And again, the ethical platform of the Stoic philosophy imposed on its adherents the duty of upholding rather than overthrowing the popular creed—that creed forming a barrier against the violence of human passions. The practical value of the popular faith may, then, be the cause of their theological orthodoxy. Just as the Romans, long after all faith in the Gods had been lost under the influence of Greek culture, still found it useful and necessary to uphold the traditional faith, so the Stoics may have feared that, were the worship of the people’s Gods to be suspended, that respect for God and the divine law on which they depended for the support of their own moral tenets would at the same time be exterminated.

Meantime, they did not deny that much in the popular belief would not harmonise with their principles; and that both the customary forms of religious worship, and also the mythical representations of the Gods, were altogether untenable. So little did they conceal their strictures, that it is clear that conviction, and not fear (there being no longer occasion for fear), was the cause of their leaning towards tradition. Zeno spoke with contempt of the erection of sacred edifices; for how can a thing be sacred which is erected by builders and labourers? Seneca denies the good of prayer. He considers it absurd to entertain fear for the Gods, who are ever-beneficent beings. God he would have worshipped, not by sacrifices and ceremonies, but by purity of life; not in temples of stone, but in the shrine of the heart. Of images of the Gods, and the devotion paid to them, he speaks with strong disapprobation; of the unworthy fables of mythology, with bitter ridicule; and he calls the popular Gods, without reserve, creations of superstition, whom the philosopher only invokes because it is the custom so to do. Moreover, the Stoic in Cicero, and the elder authorities quoted by him, allow that the popular beliefs and the songs of the poets are full of superstition and foolish legends. Chrysippus is expressly said to have declared the distinction of sex among the Gods, and other features in which they resemble men, to be childish fancies; Zeno to have denied any real existence to the popular deities, and to have transferred their names to natural objects; and Aristo is charged with having denied shape and sensation to the Deity.

The Stoics were, nevertheless, not disposed to let the current beliefs quite fall through. Far from it, they thought to discover real germs of truth in these beliefs, however inadequate they were in form. They accordingly made it their business to give a relative vindication to the existing creed. Holding that the name of God belongs, in its full and original sense, only to the one primary Being, they did not hesitate to apply it, in a limited and derivative sense, to all those objects by means of which the divine power is especially manifested. Nay, more, in consideration of man’s relationship to God, they found it not unreasonable to deduce from the primary Being Gods bearing a resemblance to men. Hence they distinguished, as Plato had done, between the eternal and immutable God and Gods created and transitory, between God the Creator and Sovereign of the world, and subordinate Gods; in other words, between the universal divine power as a Unity working in the world, and its individual parts and manifestations. To the former they gave the name Zeus; to the latter they applied the names of the other subordinate Gods.

In this derivative sense, divinity was allowed to many beings by the Stoics, and, in particular, to the stars, which Plato had called created Gods, which Aristotle had described as eternal divine beings, and the worship of which lay so near to the ancient cultus of nature. Not only by their lustre and effect on the senses, but far more by the regularity of their motions, do these stars prove that the material of which they consist is the purest, and that, of all created objects, they have the largest share in the divine reason. And so seriously was this belief held by the Stoics, that a philosopher of the unwieldy piety of Cleanthes so far forgot himself as to charge Aristarchus of Samoa, the discoverer of the earth’s motion round the sun, the Galilæo of antiquity, with impiety for wishing to remove the hearth of the universe from its proper place. This deification of the stars prepares us to find years, months, and seasons called Gods, as was done by Zeno, or at least by his School. Yet, it must be remembered, that the Stoics referred these times and seasons to heavenly bodies, as their material embodiments.

As the stars are the first manifestation, so the elements are the first particular forms of the Divine Being, and the most common materials for the exercise of the divine powers. It is, however, becoming that the all-pervading divine mind should not only be honoured in its primary state, but likewise in its various derivate forms, as air, water, earth, and elementary fire.

All other things, too, which, by their utility to man, display in a high degree the beneficent power of God, appeared to the Stoics to deserve divine honours, such honours not being paid to the things themselves, but to the powers active within them. They did not, therefore, hesitate to give the names of Gods to fruits and wine, and other gifts of the Gods.

How, then, could they escape the inference that among other beneficent beings, the heroes of antiquity in particular deserve religious honours, seeing that in these benefactors of mankind, whom legend commemorates, the Divine Spirit did not show Himself under the lower form of a ἕξις, as in the elements, nor yet as simple φύσις, as in plants, but as a rational soul? Such deified men had, according to the Stoic view—which, on this point, agrees with the well-known theory of Euemerus—greatly helped to swell the number of the popular Gods; nor had the Stoics themselves any objection to their worship. Add to this the personification of human qualities and states of mind, and it will be seen what ample opportunity the Stoics had for recognising everywhere in nature and in the world of man divine agencies and powers, and, consequently, Gods in the wider sense of the term. When once it is allowed that the name of God may be diverted from the Being to whom it properly belongs and applied, in a derivative sense, to what is impersonal and a mere manifestation of divine power, the door is opened to everything; and, with such concessions, the Stoic system could graft into itself even exceptional forms of polytheism.

With the worship of heroes is also connected the doctrine of demons. The soul, according to the Stoic view already set forth, is of divine origin, a part of and emanation from God. Or, distinguishing more accurately in the soul one part from the rest, divinity belongs to reason only, as the governing part. Now, since reason alone protects man from evil and conducts him to happiness—this, too, was the popular belief—reason may be described as the guardian spirit, or demon, in man. Not only by the younger members of the Stoic School, by Posidonius, Seneca, Epictetus, and Antoninus, are the popular notions of demons, as by Plato aforetime, explained in this sense, but the same method is pursued by Chrysippus, who made εὐδαιμονία, or happiness, consist in a harmony of the demon in man (which, in this case, can only be his own will and understanding) with the will of God. Little were the Stoics aware that, by such explanations, they were attributing to popular notions a meaning wholly foreign to them. But it does not therefore follow that they shared the popular belief in guardian spirits. Their system, however, left room for believing that, besides the human soul and the spirits of the stars, other rational souls might exist, having a definite work to perform in the world, subject to the law of general necessity, and knit into the chain of cause and effect. Nay, more, such beings might seem to them necessary for the completeness of the universe. What reason have we, then, to express doubt, when we are told that the Stoics believed in the existence of demons, playing a part in man and caring for him? Is there anything extraordinary, from the Stoic platform, in holding that some of these demons are by nature inclined to do harm, and that these tormentors are used by the deity for the punishment of the wicked, especially when in such a strict system of necessity these demons could only work, like the powers of nature, conformably with the laws of the universe and without disturbing those laws, occupying the same ground as lightning, earthquakes, and drought? And yet the language of Chrysippus, when speaking of evil demons who neglect the duties entrusted to them, sounds as though it were only figurative and tentative language, not really meant. Besides, the later Stoics made themselves merry over the Jewish and Christian notions of demons and demoniacal possession.

Even without accepting demons, there were not wanting in the Stoic system points with which the popular beliefs could be connected, if it was necessary to find in these beliefs some deeper meaning. It mattered not that these beliefs were often so distorted in the process of accommodation as to be no

longer recognised. The process required a regular code of interpretation by means of which a philosophic mind could see its own thoughts in the utterances of commonplace thinkers. By the Stoics, as by their Jewish and Christian followers, this code of interpretation was found in the method of allegorical interpretation—a method which received a most extended application, in order to bridge over the gulf between the older and the more modern types of culture. Zeno, and still more Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and their successors, sought to discover natural principles and moral ideas—the λόγοι φυσικοὶ, or physicæ rationes,—in the Gods of popular belief and the stories of these Gods, and supposed that such principles and ideas were represented in these stories in a sensuous form. In this attempt, they clung to the poems of Homer and Hesiod, the Bible of the Greeks, without, however, excluding other mythology from the sphere of their investigation. One chief instrument which they, and modern lovers of the symbolical following in their footsteps, employed was a capricious playing with etymologies of which so many instances are on record. Like most allegorisers, they also laid down certain principles of interpretation sensible enough theoretically, but proving, by the use which was made of them, that their scientific appearance was only a blind to conceal the most capricious vagaries. Approaching in some of their explanations to the original bases of mythological formation, they were still unable to shake off the curious notion that the originators of myths, fully conscious of all their latent meanings, had framed them as pictures to appeal to the senses; and, in innumerable cases, they resorted to explanations so entirely without foundation that they would have been impossible to anyone possessing a sound view of nature and the origin of legends. To make theory tally with practice, the founder of the School—following Antisthenes, and setting an example afterwards repeated by both Jews and Christians—maintained that Homer only in some places expressed himself according to truth, in others according to popular opinion. Thus did Stoicism surround itself with the necessary instruments for the most extended allegorical and dogmatic interpretation.

Proceeding further to enquire how this method was applied to particular stories, the first point which attracts attention is the contrast which they draw between Zeus and the remaining Gods. From their belief in one divine principle everywhere at work, it followed as a corollary that this contrast, which elsewhere in Greek mythology is only a difference of degree, was raised to a specific and absolute difference. Zeus was compared to other Gods as an incorruptible God to transitory divine beings. To the Stoics, as to their predecessor Heraclitus, Zeus is the one primary Being, who has engendered, and again absorbs into himself, all things and all Gods. He is the universe as a unity, the primary fire, the ether, the spirit of the world, the universal reason, the general law or destiny. All other Gods, as being parts of the world, are only parts and manifestations of Zeus—only special names of the one God who has many names. That part of Zeus which goes over into air is called Here (ἀήρ); and its lower strata, full of vapours, Hades; that which becomes elementary fire is called Hephæstus; that which becomes water, Poseidon; that which becomes earth, Demeter, Hestia, and Rhea; lastly, that portion which remains in the upper region is called Athene in the more restricted sense. And since, according to the Stoics, the finer elements are the same as spirit, Zeus is not only the soul of the universe, but Athene, Reason, Intelligence, Providence. The same Zeus appears in other respects as Hermes, Dionysus, Hercules. The Homeric story of the binding and liberation of Zeus points to the truth, already established in Providence, that the order of the world rests on the balance of the elements. The rise and succession of the elements is symbolised in the hanging of Here; the arrangement of the spheres of the universe, in the golden chain by which the Olympians thought to pull down Zeus. The lameness of Hephæstus goes partly to prove the difference of the earthly from the heavenly fire, and partly implies that earthly fire can as little do without wood as the lame can do without a wooden support; and if, in Homer, Hephæstus is hurled down from heaven, the meaning of the story is, that in ancient times men lighted their fires by lightning from heaven and the rays of the sun. The connection of Here with Zeus points to the relation of the ether to the air surrounding it; and the well-known occurrence on Mount Ida was referred to the same event. The still more offensive scene in the Samian picture was expounded by Chrysippus as meaning that the fertilising powers (λόγοι σπερματικοὶ) of God are brought to bear upon matter. A similar meaning is found by Heraclitus in the story of Proteus, and in that of the shield of Achilles. If Hephæstus intended this shield to be a representation of this world, what else is thereby meant but that, by the influence of primary fire, matter has been shaped into a world?

In a similar way, the Homeric theomachy was explained by many to mean a conjunction of the seven planets, which would involve the world in great trouble. Heraclitus, however, gives the preference to an interpretation, half physical and half moral, which may have been already advanced by Cleanthes. Ares and Aphrodite, rashness and profligacy, are opposed by Athene, or prudence; Leto, forgetfulness, is attacked by Hermes, the revealing word; Apollo, the sun, by Poseidon, the God of the water, with whom, however, he comes to terms, because the sun is fed by the vapours of the water; Artemis, the moon, is opposed by Here, the air, through which it passes, and which often obscures it; Fluvius, or earthly water, by Hephæstus, or earthly fire. That Apollo is the sun, and Artemis the moon, no one doubts; nor did it cause any difficulty to these mythologists to find the moon also in Athene. Many subtle discussions were set on foot by the Stoics respecting the name, the form, and the attributes of these Gods, particularly by Cleanthes, for whom the sun had particular importance, as being the seat of the power which rules the world. The stories of the birth of the Lotoides and the defeat of the dragon Pytho are, according to Antipater, symbolical of events which took place at the formation of the world, and the creation of the sun and moon. Others find in the descent of two Gods from Leto the simpler thought, that sun and moon came forth out of darkness. In the same spirit, Heraclitus, without disparaging the original meaning of the story, sees in the swift-slaying arrows of Apollo a picture of devastating pestilence; but then, in an extraordinary manner, misses the natural sense, in gathering from the Homeric story of Apollo’s reconciliation (Il. i. 53) the lesson, that Achilles stayed the plague by the medical science which Chiron had taught him.

Far more plausible is the explanation given of the dialogue of Athene with Achilles, and of Hermes with Ulysses. These dialogues are stated to be simply soliloquies of the two heroes respectively. But the Stoic skill in interpretation appears in its fullest glory in supplying the etymological meanings of the various names and epithets which are attributed to Athene. We learn, for instance, that the name Τριτογένεια refers to the three divisions of philosophy. Heraclitus discovers the same divisions in the three heads of Cerberus. Chrysippus, in a diffuse manner, proves that the coming forth of the Goddess from the head of Zeus is not at variance with his view of the seat of reason. It has been already observed that Dionysus means wine, and Demeter fruit; but, just as the latter was taken to represent the earth and its nutritious powers, so Dionysus was further supposed to stand for the principle of natural life, the productive and sustaining breath of life; and since this breath comes from the sun, according to Cleanthes, it was not difficult to find the sun represented by the God of wine. Moreover, the stories of the birth of Dionysus, his being torn to pieces by Titans, his followers, no less than the rape of Proserpine, and the institution of agriculture, and the names of the respective Gods, afforded ample material for the interpreting tastes of the Stoics.

The Fates (μοῖραι), as their name already indicates, stand for the righteous and invariable rule of destiny; the Graces (χάριτες), as to whose names, number, and qualities Chrysippus has given the fullest discussion, represent the virtues of benevolence and gratitude; the Muses, the divine origin of culture. Ares is war; Aphrodite, unrestrained passion, or, more generally, absence of control. Other interpreters, and among them Empedocles, consider Ares to represent the separating, Aphrodite the uniting, power of nature. The stories of the two deities being wounded by Diomedes, of their adulterous intrigues, and their being bound by Hephæstus, are explained in various ways—morally, physically, technically, and historically.

In the case of another God, Pan, the idea of the Allnear was suggested simply by the name. His shaggy goat’s feet were taken to represent the solid earth, and the human form of his upper limbs implied that the sovereign power in the world resides above. To the Stoic without a misgiving as to these and similar explanations, it was a matter of small difficulty to make the Titan Ἰάπετος stand for language or Ἰάφετος, and Κοῖος for quality or ποιότης. Add to this the many more or less ingenious explanations of the well-known stories of Uranos and Cronos, and we are still far from having exhausted the resources of the Stoic explanations of mythology. The most important attempts of this kind have, however, been sufficiently noticed.

Besides the legends of the Gods, the legends of the heroes attracted considerable attention in the Stoic Schools. Specially were the persons of Hercules and Ulysses singled out for the sake of illustrating the ideal of the wise man. But here, too, various modes of interpretation meet and cross. According to Cornutus, the God Hercules must be distinguished from the hero of the same name—the God being nothing less than Reason, ruling in the world without a superior; and the grammarian makes every effort to unlock with this key his history and attributes. Nevertheless, with all his respect for Cleanthes, he could not accept that Stoic’s explanation of the twelve labours of Hercules. Heraclitus has probably preserved the chief points in this explanation. Hercules is a teacher of mankind, initiated into the heavenly wisdom. He overcomes the wild boar, the lion, and the bull, i.e. the lusts and passions of men; he drives away the deer, i.e. cowardice; he purifies the stall of Augeas from filth, i.e. he purifies the life of men from extravagances; he frightens away the birds, i.e. empty hopes; and burns to ashes the many-headed hydra of pleasure. He brings the keeper of the nether world to light, with his three heads—these heads representing the three chief divisions of philosophy. In the same way, the wounding of Here and Hades by Hercules is explained. Here, the Goddess of the air, represents the fog of ignorance, the three-barbed arrow undeniably (so thought the Stoics) pointing to philosophy, with its threefold division, in its heavenly flight. The laying prostrate of Hades by that arrow implies that philosophy has access even to things most secret. The Odyssey is explained by Heraclitus in the same strain, nor was he apparently the first so to do. In Ulysses you behold a pattern of all virtues, and an enemy of all vices. He flees from the country of the Lotophagi, i.e. from wicked pleasures; he stays the wild rage of the Cyclopes; he calms the winds, having first secured a prosperous passage by his knowledge of the stars; the attractions of pleasure in the house of Circe he overcomes, penetrates into the secrets of Hades, learns from the Sirens the history of all times, saves himself from the Charybdis of profligacy and the Scylla of shamelessness, and, in abstaining from the oxen of the sun, overcomes sensuous desires. Such explanations may suffice to show how the whole burden of the myths was resolved into allegory by the Stoics, how little they were conscious of foisting in foreign elements, and how they degraded to mere symbols of philosophical ideas those very heroes on whose real existence they continually insisted.

The Stoic theology has engaged a good deal of our attention, not only because it is instructive to compare their views, in general and in detail, with similar views advanced nowadays, but also because it forms a very characteristic and important part of their entire system. To us, much of it appears to be a mere worthless trifling; but, to the Stoics, these explanations were solemnly earnest. To them they seemed to be the only means of rescuing the people’s faith, of meeting the severe charges brought against tradition and the works of the poets, on which a Greek had been fed from infancy. Unable to break entirely with these traditions, they still would not sacrifice to them their scientific and moral convictions. Can we, then, wonder that they attempted the impossible, and sought to unite contradictions? or that such an attempt landed them in forced and artificial methods of interpretation?

Illustrative of the attitude of the Stoics towards positive religion are their views on divination. The importance attached by them to the prophetic art appears in the diligence which the chiefs of this School devoted to discussing it. The ground for the later teaching having been prepared by Zeno and Cleanthes, Chrysippus gave the finishing touch to the Stoic dogmas on the subject. Particular treatises respecting divination were drawn up by Sphærus, Diogenes, Antipater, and, last of all, by Posidonius. The subject was also fully treated by Boëthus, and by Panætius from a somewhat different side. The common notions as to prognostics and oracles could not commend themselves to these philosophers, nor could they approve of common soothsaying. In a system so purely based on nature as theirs, the supposition that God works for definite ends after the manner of men, exceptionally announcing to one or the other a definite result—in short, the marvellous—was out of place. But to infer thence—as their opponents, the Epicureans, did—that the whole art of divination is a delusion, was more than the Stoics could do. The belief in an extraordinary care of God for individual men was too comforting an idea for them to renounce; they not only appealed to divination as the strongest proof of the existence of Gods and the government of Providence, but they also drew the converse conclusion, that, if there be Gods, there must also be divination, since the benevolence of the Gods would not allow them to refuse to mankind so inestimable a gift. The conception of destiny, too, and the nature of man, appeared to Posidonius to lead to the belief in divination; if all that happens is the outcome of an unbroken chain of cause and effect, there must be signs indicating the existence of causes, from which certain effects result; and if the soul of man is in its nature divine, it must also possess the capacity, under circumstances, of observing what generally escapes its notice. Lest, however, the certainty of their belief should suffer from lacking the support of experience, the Stoics had collected a number of instances of verified prophecies; but with so little discrimination, that we should only wonder at their credulity, did we not know the low state of historical criticism in their time, and the readiness with which, in all ages, men believe whatever agrees with their prejudices.

In what way, then, can the two facts be combined—the belief in prophecy, on the one hand, and, on the other, the denial of unearthly omens arising [(2) Prophecy explained by a reference to natural causes.] from an immediate divine influence? In answering this question, the Stoics adopted the only course which their system allowed. The marvellous, which, as such, they could not admit, was referred to natural laws, from which it was speculatively deduced. The admirable Panætius is the only Stoic who is reported to have maintained the independence of his judgment by denying omens, prophecy, and astrology. Just as in modern times Leibnitz and so many others both before and after him thought to purge away from the marvellous all that is accidental and superhuman, and to find in wonders links in the general chain of natural causes, so, too, the Stoics, by assuming a natural connection between the token and its fulfilment, made an effort to rescue omens and divination, and to explain portents as the natural symptoms of certain occurrences. Nor did they confine themselves to cases in which the connection between the prophecy and the event can be proved. They insisted upon divination in cases in which it cannot possibly be verified. The flight of birds and the entrails of victims are stated to be natural indications of coming events; and there is said to be even a formal connection between the positions of the stars and the individuals born under those positions. If it is urged, that in this case omens must be far more numerous than they are supposed to be, the Stoics answered, that omens are countless, but that only the meaning of a few is known to men. If the question is asked, how is it that, in public sacrifices, the priest should always offer those very animals whose entrails contain omens, Chrysippus and his followers did not hesitate to affirm that the same sympathy which exists between objects and omens also guides the sacrificer in the choice of a victim. And yet so bald was this hypothesis, that they had, at the same time, a second answer in reserve, viz. that the corresponding change in the entrails did not take place until the victim had been chosen. In support of such views, their only appeal was to the almighty power of God; but, in making this appeal, the deduction of omens from natural causes was at an end.

The Stoics could not altogether suppress a suspicion that an unchangeable predestination of all events has rendered individual activity superfluous, nor meet the objection that, on the hypothesis of necessity, divination itself is unnecessary. They quieted themselves, however, with the thought that divination, and the actions resulting from divination, are included among the causes foreordained by destiny.

Divination, or soothsaying, consists in the capacity to read and interpret omens; and this capacity is, according to the Stoics, partly a natural gift, and partly acquired by art and study. The natural gift of prophecy is based, as other philosophers had already laid down, on the relationship of the human soul to God. Sometimes it manifests itself in sleep, at other times in ecstasy. A taste for higher revelations will be developed, in proportion as the soul is withdrawn from the world of sense, and from all thought respecting things external. The actual cause of the prophetic gift was referred to influences coming to the soul partly from God or the universal spirit diffused throughout the world, and partly from the souls which haunt the air or demons. External causes, however, contribute to put people in a state of enthusiasm.

Artificial prophesying, or the art of foretelling the future, depends upon observation and guess-work. One who could survey all causes in their effects on one another would need no observation. Such a one would be able to deduce the whole series of events from the given causes. But God alone is able to do this. Hence men must gather the knowledge of future events from the indications by which their coming is announced. These indications may be of every variety; and hence all possible forms of foretelling the future were allowed by the Stoics; the inspection of entrails, divination by lightning and other natural phenomena, by the flight of birds, and omens of every kind. Some idea of the mass of superstition which the Stoics admitted and encouraged may be gathered from the first book of Cicero’s treatise on divination. The explanation of these omens being, however, a matter of skill, individuals in this, as in every other art, may often go wrong in their interpretation. To make sure against mistakes tradition is partly of use, since it establishes by manifold experiences the meaning of each omen; and the moral state of the prophet is quite as important for scientifically foretelling the future as for the natural gift of divination. Purity of heart is one of the most essential conditions of prophetic success.

In all these questions the moral character of Stoic piety is ever to the fore, and great pains were taken by the Stoics to bring their belief in prophecy into harmony with their philosophic view of the world. Nevertheless, it is clear that success could not be theirs either in making this attempt, or indeed in dealing with any other parts of the popular belief. Struggling with indefatigable zeal in an attempt so hopeless, they proved at least the sincerity of their wish to reconcile religion and philosophy; but they also disclosed by these endeavours a misgiving that science, which had put on so bold a face, was not in itself sufficient, but needed support from the traditions of religion, and from a belief in divine revelations. Probably we shall not be far wrong in referring to this practical need the seeming vagaries of men like Chrysippus, who, with the clearest intellectual powers, could be blind to the folly of the methods they adopted in defending untenable and antiquated opinions. These vagaries show in Stoicism practical interests preponderating over science. They also establish the connection of Stoicism with Schools which doubted altogether the truth of the understanding, and thought to supplement it by divine revelations. Thus the Stoic theory of divination leads directly to the Neopythagorean and Neoplatonic doctrine of revelation.