Book 2, Chapter 55

112 “In the Sibylline verses, the initial letters of each passage’s lines weave the whole opening line of that passage into the text. This is the work of a writer, not a person in a frenzy, of someone taking pains, not someone out of his mind. So let us keep the Sibyl apart and under lock and key: as our ancestors handed down, let the books not even be read without the senate’s order, and let them serve to lay religious fears to rest rather than raise them. Let us appeal to their guardians to bring anything at all out of those books rather than a king, whom neither gods nor human beings will ever again tolerate at Rome.

“But many people have often spoken true prophecies, like Cassandra:‘And now on the great sea […]’

“And the same woman a little later:

“‘Ah, look […]’

113 “Must you make me believe in plays too? Let them give as much pleasure as you like; let language and thought, rhythm and song enhance them. We owe no authority or credence to inventions. In the same way, I think we should put no trust in some fellow called Publicius, in the Marcii prophets, or in Apollo’s mysteries. Some of their pronouncements are obvious fabrications, others reckless outbursts, and they have never won the approval of anyone of even ordinary sense, much less a thoughtful person.

114 “‘What?’ you will say. ‘Did not that oarsman in Coponius’s fleet predict what came to pass?’ Indeed he did—and precisely what all of us at the time feared would happen. We heard that the two camps faced each other in Thessaly. Caesar’s army seemed to us both bolder, since it had brought war upon its own country, and stronger through its long service. Not one of us was free from fear about the battle’s outcome, though, as befitted resolute men, we did not show it openly. As for that Greek, what wonder if the enormity of his fear, as so often happens, robbed him of his steadiness, his reason, his very self? In that mental upheaval he madly declared that the things he had feared while sane were going to happen. In the name of gods and human beings, which is more plausible: that a deranged oarsman could discern the immortal gods’ plans, or that one of us there at the time could—I, Cato, Varro, or Coponius himself?

112 “In the Sibylline books, the first line of each passage is woven through the whole poem of that passage in the initial letters. That is the work of a writer, not someone in a frenzy; someone using care, not a mad person. So let us keep the Sibyl put away and locked up. Let us follow our ancestors' tradition: the books must not even be read without the senate's order, and should help put religious fears to rest rather than stir them up. Let us ask their keepers to bring anything out of those books rather than a king. Neither gods nor humans will allow a king at Rome ever again.

“But many people have often prophesied truly. Cassandra, for example:‘And now on the great sea […]’

“And the same woman says a little later:

“‘Oh, look […]’

113 “So are you forcing me to believe stories too? Let them give as much pleasure as you like. Let words, ideas, rhythms, and songs make them more attractive. But we should give made-up things no authority or belief. In the same way, I do not think we should believe some fellow called Publicius, or the prophets called the Marcii, or Apollo's mysterious sayings. Some of these are plainly invented, others recklessly blurted out. They have never won the approval of even anyone of average intelligence, let alone a wise person.

114 “‘What?’ you will say. ‘Didn't that oarsman in Coponius' fleet predict what actually happened?’ Certainly, and what he predicted was just what we all feared might happen then. We heard that the armies were camped opposite each other in Thessaly. Caesar's army seemed to us to be bolder, since it had brought war against its own country, and stronger because of its long service. Every one of us feared the outcome of battle, though we did not show it openly, as was fitting for men of steady character. So why be surprised if that Greek lost his steadiness, his reason, and control of himself through great fear, as people often do? Now out of his mind with distress, he said those events would happen—the very ones he had feared might happen while still sane. In the name of gods and humans, which is more likely? Could a mad oarsman understand the immortal gods' plans better than any of us there at the time—me, Cato, Varro, or Coponius himself?