While many matters in philosophy remain by no means sufficiently explained, the question concerning the nature of the gods is, as you well know, Brutus, exceptionally difficult and profoundly obscure. Yet it is most beautiful for the understanding of the mind and essential for the regulation of religion. Regarding this, the opinions of the most learned men are so varied and so conflicting, that it ought to be a strong argument that the cause—that is, the starting point of philosophy—is ignorance, and that the Academics acted prudently in withholding assent from uncertain things. For what is more shameful than rashness? Or what is so rash and so unworthy of the gravity and consistency of a wise man, than either to hold a false opinion or to defend without any hesitation that which has not been sufficiently explored, perceived, and known?

For instance, on this very question, the majority—which is most probable and toward which we are all led by nature as our guide—have stated that the gods exist. Protagoras declared himself in doubt, while Diagoras of Melos and Theodorus of Cyrene thought there were no gods at all. But those who have said that gods exist exhibit such variety and disagreement that it would be tedious to enumerate their views. For much is said about the shapes of the gods, their locations and dwellings, and the activity of their lives, and concerning these there is the greatest disagreement among philosophers. But regarding the core of the issue and the main question—whether they do nothing, undertake nothing, and are free from all care and administration of things, or whether, on the contrary, all things were made and established by them from the beginning and are governed and moved by them for infinite time—there is primarily a vast disagreement. Unless this is resolved, humanity must inevitably remain in profound error and in ignorance of the most important matters.

For there are and have been philosophers who believe that the gods have absolutely no care for human affairs. If their opinion is true, what can piety be, what holiness, what religion? For all these things are to be offered purely and chastely to the divine power only if they are noticed by them and if something has been granted by the immortal gods to the human race. But if, on the other hand, the gods neither can nor will help us, nor care at all, nor notice what we do, nor is there anything that can flow from them to human life, what reason is there that we should offer any worship, honors, or prayers to the immortal gods? In the mere appearance of a feigned simulation, just as with the other virtues, piety cannot exist; and along with it, holiness and religion must necessarily be destroyed. With these removed, a disturbance of life and great confusion follows; and I hardly know whether, if piety towards the gods is removed, good faith, human fellowship, and that single most excellent virtue, justice, might not also be abolished.

But there are other philosophers, and indeed great and noble ones, who believe that the entire world is administered and ruled by the mind and reason of the gods, and not only that, but also that they consult for and provide for human life. For they think that the crops and other things the earth brings forth, and the weather, the changing of the seasons, and the alterations of the sky—by which everything the earth produces is matured and ripens—are given to the human race by the immortal gods. They collect many things (which will be discussed in these books) of such a nature that the immortal gods seem almost to have been created for the use of humans. Against these views Carneades argued so extensively that he aroused people who were not sluggish to the desire of investigating the truth.

For there is no subject on which not only the unlearned but also the learned disagree so greatly. Since their opinions are so varied and so conflicting among themselves, it is certainly possible that none of them is true, but it is certainly impossible that more than one is true. In this matter, we can placate well-meaning critics and refute malicious detractors, so that the former may regret their reproaches, and the latter may rejoice that they have learned something. For those who admonish us amicably should be taught, while those who attack us maliciously must be repelled. However, many things both in my own writings and in those of others seem to have been argued in such a way that most people cannot marvel enough at what intention led me to engage in the discussion of these matters, in which either side could appear either true or false.

Nor have we undertaken the defense of abandoned and forsaken doctrines; for opinions do not die with the death of men, though perhaps they long for the illumination of their author. For example, this method in philosophy of arguing against everything and judging nothing openly—invented by Socrates, revived by Arcesilaus, and strengthened by Carneades, which flourished down to our own age—now seems almost orphaned even in Greece itself. This, I think, happened not through the fault of the Academy but due to the sluggishness of men. For if it is a great task to grasp individual disciplines, how much greater to grasp them all? Yet this is necessary for those who have set themselves the goal, for the sake of discovering the truth, to argue both against and for all philosophers.

I do not profess to have attained the capacity for such a great and difficult task, but I openly declare that I have pursued it. Yet it is impossible that those who philosophize in this manner have nothing to follow. This matter has been discussed more carefully elsewhere, but because some people are exceedingly slow and unteachable, they seem to need frequent reminding. For we are not those who think that nothing is true, but rather those who say that some falsehoods are attached to all truths with such similarity that there is no certain mark for judging and giving assent. From this arises the principle that many things are probable, which, although they might not be fully comprehended, nevertheless—because they possess a certain distinguished and clear appearance—can serve to guide the life of a wise man.

But now, lest I seem to praise myself too much even in my own work—which in itself is hardly something to be condemned—let us come to the matter at hand. Back then, when my mind was free from public business and forensic duties, I used to reflect much within myself both on those subjects and on the matters discussed in these books. But most particularly, from what was often debated by me and others concerning the nature of the gods, I remember that on a certain festival day of the Latin Holidays, I arrived at the house of M. Cotta, and there I found Q. Lucilius Balbus and C. Velleius. One of them defended the discipline of the Stoics, the other that of the Epicureans, while Cotta was primarily a follower of the school which we approve.

When Cotta had said these things, he made an end of speaking. Then Velleius said, 'How careless of me, to have wanted to engage with an Academic who is also an orator! For if you had not come to my opinion in that common disadvantage of ours, what on earth could I have expected from you? You have overturned what I argued in such a way that it almost seems true to me what I argued in my book against Carneades: that nothing is as dangerous to someone assenting as finding that the very things that seem true to him are almost the same as those that are false. But more on this elsewhere; now to the matter at hand.'

Then Balbus said, 'I truly will gladly discuss this matter with you, Cotta, if you please, and with you, Velleius. For I am not the sort of person who thinks there is nothing that can be said about the nature of the gods, or who does not have what I want to say ready at hand; but before I approach what I think about the whole matter, I will say a few words about myself. There are many things in that philosophy in which you are engaged that I strongly disapprove of, particularly the fact that whoever approaches it tries to appear as though they are taught something different—either by the immortal gods themselves, which is incredible, or at least by philosophers who have worked on such matters—from what is grounded both in custom and in truth.'

And Velleius said, 'Let us listen to Balbus, from whom the entire reasoning and doctrine of the Stoics regarding the nature of the gods will be learned.' Then Balbus replied, 'See, then, how prepared I am for these matters; for I do not need the things you labor over, nor do I seek any petty arguments by which to show that the gods exist. For that cannot be doubted; but I will say a few words so that it may be apparent how prepared I am. That the gods exist, therefore, is so clear that anyone who denies it I can hardly consider of sound mind. For what can be so open and so clear, when we look up at the sky and contemplate the celestial bodies, than that there is some divine power of surpassing mind by which these things are ruled?'

If this were not so, how could Ennius have said with the assent of all, 'Behold this glowing expanse above, which all invoke as Jupiter'—and that he is both Jupiter and the ruler of the universe, governing all things with a nod, and, as the same Ennius says, 'the father of both gods and men,' a present and supremely powerful god? I really do not understand why anyone who doubts this might not just as well doubt whether the sun exists or not. For what is more evident than this? If we did not hold this known and comprehended in our minds, such a stable opinion would not persist, nor would it be confirmed by the passage of time, nor could it have grown old along with the centuries and generations of men.

When Balbus had said these things, Cotta, smiling, said, 'You are late, Balbus, in instructing me on what I should defend. For already in the philosophy to which I adhere, I have made it my rule to assent to nothing rashly, and to approve nothing that has not been explored and perceived. The result is that all the things you say are uncertain to me, and—what is the crux of this debate—the very fact that the gods exist, based on what you said is ingrained in everyone by nature, does not seem clear to me. But since you wish to prove this point, which is allegedly confirmed by the consensus of all nations and races of men, I will refute that very claim; for it is not so.'

First of all, if you claim this—that everyone believes the gods exist—I do not know how it is that everyone believes the gods exist. For we have heard that there are many nations in which there is no religion of the gods, no divine power. Moreover, did Diagoras, who is called the atheist, and Theodorus think that the gods existed at all? As for Protagoras, whom you mentioned, Balbus, when he stated at the beginning of his book, 'Concerning the gods, I have no way of saying whether they exist or do not exist,' he was banished from the city and territory by order of the Athenians, and his books were burned in the public assembly. From this I genuinely believe that many were made more hesitant to profess this opinion, since not even an expression of doubt could escape punishment.

Now indeed, some have said that the gods exist in such a way as to be free from superstition; others in such a way that there is no mind in them, no reason, and no providence over human affairs. Others still, regarding this very point, disagreed among themselves so much that some said the world is governed and ruled by them, while others said they care for none of these things, but that each of them must live their life in leisure and peace. If this is so, not only is there the greatest disagreement in this matter, but the very thing on which you agree most—that the gods exist—is called into question. Therefore, either confirm your own views, or do not refute the views of others; for I, as I stated at the outset, do not say that all these things said about the nature of the gods are false, but I say they are uncertain.

You have, therefore, Balbus, what I think about the immortal gods. But if these same things regarding the nature we are investigating are proven to you, there is nothing you should expect from me. I am not someone who will pull you away from the opinion you hold, but rather someone who wishes to state, from my own viewpoint, what seems doubtful to me in it. For even though it is not easy for a man to retreat from the discipline in which he was nourished from boyhood and in which he has grown old, nevertheless, if you prove to me the things about which you were speaking so confidently, I will be confirmed even in this very opinion I hold. But since we have been driven into these straits by the discourse in which we are engaged, let us, if you please, proceed in order; let us first consider the things to which we assent.