Tertullian · a new plain-English translation from the original language
[1] If it is not permitted to you, rulers of the Roman Empire, seated for judgment in the open and the conspicuous, on the very summit of the state almost, to look plainly and examine face to face what exactly is at stake in the case of the Christians; if, on this one subject alone, your authority either fears or blushes to inquire into it publicly with the diligence justice demands; if, finally — as happened just recently — the hostility to this sect, working itself out too energetically in private trials, blocks the way to any defense: then let the truth be allowed to reach your ears at least by the hidden path of a silent page.
[2] It begs no favor for its case, because it is not even surprised at its situation. It knows that it lives as a foreigner on earth, that among strangers it readily finds enemies, but that its race, its home, its hope, its favor, its dignity are in heaven. One thing alone it is anxious about meanwhile: not to be condemned unknown. [3] What does it cost the laws that rule in their own kingdom, if it is heard? Will their power be more glorious for this, that they condemn even a truth that has been heard? But if they condemn it unheard, besides the odium of injustice they will earn the suspicion of having a guilty conscience as well, refusing to hear what, once heard, they could not condemn.
[4] This, then, is the first charge we lodge before you: the injustice of the hatred directed at the Christian name. That very label which seems to excuse this injustice is the same one that both loads it and convicts it — ignorance, namely. For what is more unjust than for men to hate what they do not know, even if the thing deserves hatred? For it deserves it only once it is established that it deserves it. [5] But while knowledge of its merits is absent, on what does the justice of the hatred rest — a thing that must be proved not by outcome but by conscience? Since, then, men hate for the very reason that they do not know the character of what they hate, why should it not be permitted that the thing be of such a character that they ought not to hate it? So we convict them on both counts at once from each other: that they are ignorant even while they hate, and that they hate unjustly even while they are ignorant.
[6] It is proof of ignorance that, even while excusing the injustice, condemns it — since all who used to hate, because they did not know the character of what they hated, stop hating the very moment they stop being ignorant of it. From these, Christians are made — precisely upon finding out — and they begin to hate what they once were, and to profess what they once hated; and they become as numerous as we are said to be. [7] They cry out that the city is besieged: Christians in the fields, in the forts, on the islands; they grieve that every sex, age, condition, even rank, is going over to this name, as if it were some loss to them. [8] And yet not even this moves their minds to suspect that some hidden good might be at work. They will not allow themselves the more honest guess, they have no wish to look more closely. Here alone does human curiosity go numb. They love not to know, while others rejoice to have found out. How much more would Anacharsis have branded these men — fools passing judgment on the wise — than he branded the tone-deaf judging musicians! [9] They would rather not know, because they already hate. So thoroughly do they prejudge that what they do not know must be of such a kind that, if they did know it, they could not hate it — whereas, if no debt of hatred is found to exist, surely the best course is to stop hating unjustly; and if the merit is in fact established, then far from any hatred being subtracted, more should be added to it, for perseverance, on the very authority of justice itself.
[10] "But," someone says, "that is no proof of goodness just because it converts many; how many, after all, are driven over to evil! How many turncoats to the wrong side!" Who denies it? Yet what is truly evil, not even those it sweeps away dare defend as good. Nature has drenched every evil thing in either fear or shame. [11] In short, wrongdoers are eager to hide, they avoid being seen; caught, they tremble; accused, they deny; even under torture they rarely, if ever, readily confess; condemned, at any rate, they grieve. They count up within themselves the impulses of their own wicked mind, and blame their cowardice on fate or on the stars; for they are unwilling to own as theirs what they recognize as evil. [12] But the Christian — what is there like that in him? No one is ashamed, no one repents, except perhaps of not having been one sooner. If he is denounced, he glories in it; if accused, he offers no defense; questioned, he confesses even unprompted; condemned, he gives thanks. [13] What kind of evil is this, that lacks the natural marks of evil — fear, shame, evasion, remorse, lament? What kind of evil is this, whose culprit rejoices, whose accusation is a wish granted and whose penalty is happiness? This is no madness you can rightly name, you who stand convicted of not even knowing what it is.