Cyprian & Lactantius · a new plain-English translation from the original language
Although philosophers, through ignorance of the truth, have often strayed from reason and fallen into inextricable errors — for what commonly happens to them is what happens to a traveler who does not know the road and will not admit his ignorance, so that he wanders about because he is ashamed to ask those he meets — yet not a single philosopher ever claimed that man and beast are indistinguishable from one another. Nor has anyone at all, who wished to seem even slightly wise, ever set the rational animal on a level with dumb and irrational creatures. That is done only by certain ignorant men, themselves no better than cattle, who, wishing to surrender themselves to belly and pleasure, claim that they were born by the same principle as everything else that breathes — a thing no man ought to say. For who is so uneducated as not to know, who so lacking in sense as not to feel, that there is something divine present in man? I do not yet come to the virtues of mind and intellect, by which man's kinship with God is plainly shown. Does not the very posture of the body and the shape of the face declare that we are not equal to the dumb beasts? Their nature is bent down toward the earth and toward fodder and has nothing in common with the sky, which they never look upon. Man, however, standing upright, his face lifted to contemplate the world, turns his countenance toward God, and reason recognizes reason. For this reason, as Cicero says, no animal except man has any notion of God. Wisdom is his alone, and through it comes an understanding of religion that belongs to him only; in this, either chiefly or exclusively, lies what sets man apart from the dumb creatures. As for the rest of what seems proper to man, even where it is not truly found in dumb animals, something similar to it can be seen. Speech is proper to man, yet a kind of likeness of speech exists in animals too. For they distinguish one another by their cries, and when angry they utter a sound like quarreling, and when they see each other after an interval they show their pleasure by voice. To us their voices seem formless, just as perhaps ours seem to them, but to themselves, since they understand one another, they are words. In every feeling, in fact, they give out distinct sounds by which they show the state of their mind. Laughter, too, is proper to man, and yet we see in other animals certain signs of joy — when they frisk in play, they lay back their ears, draw up their mouths, smooth their brows, and let their eyes go loose in playfulness. What is more proper to man than reason and foresight of the future? And yet there are animals that make several different exits from their burrows, so that if some danger should arise, a way of flight lies open to those trapped within — which they would not do unless they possessed some understanding and forethought. Others make provision for the future, as the ant, mindful of winter, strips and hoards a great heap of grain and stores it under cover; as the bee, which alone recognizes its home and its fixed dwelling, and, mindful of the coming winter, labors in summer and lays up what it has gathered for common use. It would take too long if I wished to go through what each kind of animal is accustomed to do that closely resembles human cleverness. But if in all these things that are usually credited to man a likeness is also found in dumb animals, it becomes clear that religion alone is the one thing of which no trace, no hint, can be found in beasts. Justice belongs to religion alone, and no other animal touches it. Man alone shares it with others; the rest are bound only to themselves. But justice is credited to the worship of God; whoever does not take this up is estranged from human nature and will live the life of cattle under a human shape. Since, then, we differ from the other animals in this almost alone, that we alone of all creatures perceive the divine power and might, while in them there is no understanding of God at all, it surely cannot be that in this respect dumb beasts should be wiser or human nature more foolish, when because of wisdom everything that breathes, indeed the whole of nature, is subject to man. Therefore, if it is reason, if it is this power in man that surpasses and rises above the other living things — namely, that he alone grasps the knowledge of God — it is clear that religion can in no way be dissolved.
But religion is dissolved if we believe Epicurus when he says: the nature of the gods, being divine of itself, necessarily enjoys immortal life in the deepest peace, set apart from our affairs and far removed from them; for being free of all pain, free of all danger, strong in its own resources, needing nothing from us, it is neither won over by our merits nor touched by anger. When he says this, does he suppose that any worship should be paid to god, or does he overturn all religion? For if god confers no good on anyone, if he returns no favor to the homage of his worshiper, what could be so vain, so foolish, as to build temples, offer sacrifices, bring gifts, and diminish one's own estate, only to gain nothing? But, it is said, an excellent nature deserves to be honored. What honor can be owed to one who cares for nothing and shows no gratitude? Or can we be bound in any way to one who has nothing in common with us? If god, says Cicero, is of such a kind that he is held by no gratitude, no love for mankind, then let him go his way. For what would I say — may he be gracious? He can be gracious to no one. What could be said of god more contemptuously? "Let him go his way" is his phrase for saying: away with him, out of sight, since not a soul can gain anything from him. But if god has no business with us and shows none, why then should we not do wrong, whenever it is possible to deceive the conscience of men and get around the public laws? Wherever an opportunity for concealment presents itself to us, let us look to our own advantage, let us take what belongs to others, whether without bloodshed or even with it, if beyond the laws there is nothing further to be feared. While Epicurus holds this view, he tears religion out by the root; and with religion gone, life falls into confusion and disorder. Yet since religion is something that cannot be done away with — so that we may keep both the wisdom that distinguishes us from beasts and the justice by which common life is made safer — how can religion itself be held or guarded without fear? For what is not feared is despised, and what is despised is certainly not worshiped. So it happens that religion, and majesty, and honor rest upon fear, and there is no fear where no one grows angry. Whether, then, you take away god's favor or his anger, or both together, religion is bound to be destroyed — and without it human life is filled with folly, crime, and savagery. For conscience restrains men a great deal, if we believe that we live in the sight of god, if we suppose that not only what we do is seen from above, but that even what we think or say is heard by god. But, some suppose, it is useful to believe this — not for the sake of truth, but for the sake of expediency, since laws cannot punish the conscience unless some terror hangs over it from above to check wrongdoing. All religion, then, is false, and there is no divinity, but the whole thing has been contrived by prudent men so that life might be led more uprightly and more innocently. This is a great question, and one foreign to the subject we have set out to treat, but since it necessarily arose, it deserves to be touched on, however briefly.
Since the opinions of philosophers of an earlier time agreed about providence, and there was no doubt that the world had been furnished by God and by reason and was governed by reason, the very first to break from that consensus, back in Socrates' day, was Protagoras: he professed no certainty either way about whether any divine power existed. His argument was judged so impious, so contrary to truth and religion, that the Athenians banished him from their borders and burned his books, which contained these views, in the public assembly. There is no need to argue over his opinion, since he pronounced nothing definite. After him, Socrates himself, and his pupil Plato, and those who flowed out from the school of Plato in different directions like streams — the Stoics and the Peripatetics — held the same view as their predecessors. Afterward, however, Epicurus said that god does indeed exist, since there must be something in the world outstanding, excellent, and blessed, but that there is no providence at all: and so the world itself was built by no reasoning, no art, no design, but the nature of things was formed by a chance clustering of certain tiny, indivisible seeds. I do not see what could be said more self-contradictory than this. For if god exists, he is certainly provident, as a god must be, and there is no other basis on which divinity could be granted to him, except that he must hold the past in memory, grasp the present, and see ahead into the future. When, therefore, Epicurus took away providence, he also denied that god exists. But when he declared that god exists, he at the same time granted that providence exists as well; for the one cannot exist at all, nor even be conceived, without the other. But afterward, in times when philosophy had already withered, there arose Diagoras of Melos, who said there was no god at all, and for this opinion was named the atheist; and likewise Theodorus of Cyrene — and both of these, because they could find nothing new after everything had already been said and discovered, chose instead to deny, against the truth, the very point on which all their predecessors, without exception, had agreed. These are the men who, after so many ages and so many minds had asserted and defended providence, slandered it. What then? Shall we refute these petty and idle philosophers by reason, or rather by the authority of eminent men, or indeed by both? But we must press on, lest our discussion wander too far from its subject.