Tertullian · a new plain-English translation from the original language
We have, I think, held our ground against the charge of every crime that clamors for the blood of Christians; we have laid out our whole condition, and the means by which we can prove it is as we have shown — namely, from the trustworthiness and antiquity of the divine writings, and likewise from the confession of the spiritual powers. Who will dare to refute us — not with rhetorical art, but by the very method by which we have established our proof — out of the truth? But while our truth is being made plain to each person, meanwhile unbelief, even while being won over by the good in this sect, which has already become known through everyday use and dealing, still does not reckon it, after all, a divine business, but rather a kind of philosophy. "The philosophers," it says, "advise and profess these very same things — innocence, justice, patience, sobriety, chastity." Why then, when we are compared to them in point of discipline, are we not likewise granted their equal license and impunity in practicing it? Or why are they too, as our equals, not pressed to the duties which we risk our lives by refusing? What philosopher, after all, is ever forced to offer sacrifice, or to swear by the emperor's guardian spirit, or to light lamps that burn pointlessly at midday? Quite the opposite — they openly tear down your gods, and in their writings even accuse your superstitions, while you applaud them. Many of them even bark at your rulers while you tolerate it, and are rewarded with statues and salaries more readily than they are condemned to the beasts.
And rightly so; for they are called philosophers, not Christians. This name "philosopher" does not put demons to flight. Why should it, when philosophers, ranking just below the gods, count demons among them? It is Socrates' own word: "If the daemon permits." The same man, even while he had some inkling of truth in denying the gods, still at the very end ordered a cock sacrificed to Aesculapius — out of respect, I suppose, for the god's father, since Apollo had proclaimed Socrates the wisest of all men. O thoughtless Apollo! He bore witness to the wisdom of a man who denied that the gods existed. To whatever degree hatred blazes against the truth, to that same degree whoever presents it in good faith gives offense; while whoever adulterates and courts it wins favor, under that very name, with the persecutors of truth. The mockers and corrupters of truth court it out of hostility, and in courting it corrupt it, like men chasing glory; while Christians, of necessity, both seek it out and present it whole, as men who care for their own salvation.
So then, we are equal to them neither in knowledge nor in discipline, as you suppose. For what did Thales, that prince of the natural philosophers, ever report back with certainty to Croesus, who was asking him about the divine, after repeatedly begging for more time to think it over? Any Christian craftsman finds God and shows him, and from there assigns, as an actual fact, everything that is sought concerning God — though Plato affirms that the maker of the universe is not easily found, and once found, is hard to declare to everyone. But if we are challenged on chastity, I read out part of the Athenian sentence pronounced against Socrates as a corrupter of youths. A Christian does not even change to the feminine sex. I know too of Phryne the courtesan, warming to the ardor of Diogenes as he reclined above her; I hear too that a certain Speusippus of Plato's school died in adultery. A Christian is born male for his wife alone. Democritus blinded himself, because he could not look at women without desire, and was pained if he failed to have one, and so professes to cure his lack of self-control by self-mutilation. But the Christian, with his eyes intact, does not see women at all; in his mind he is blind to lust. If I am to defend our honesty — look, Diogenes with his muddy feet tramples Plato's proud couches, out of a pride all his own; a Christian is not even proud toward the poor man. If I am to contend on modesty — look, Pythagoras among the Thurians, Zeno among the Prieneans, both reach for tyranny; the Christian does not even reach for a town magistracy. If I am to engage on equanimity — Lycurgus chose to starve himself to death because the Spartans had amended his laws; the Christian, even when condemned, gives thanks. If I compare good faith — Anaxagoras denied his hosts a deposit entrusted to him; the Christian is called faithful even by outsiders. If I am to stand on plain dealing — Aristotle drove his own intimate friend Hermias from his post in disgrace; a Christian does not even harm his enemy. The same Aristotle flatters Alexander as shamefully, angling to rule him rather than guide him, as Plato let himself be peddled to Dionysius for the sake of his belly. Aristippus, under a great show of gravity, plays the wanton in his purple robe; Ichthyas is killed while plotting treachery against his own city. No Christian has ever attempted anything like this against his own people, for all the atrocities laid bare on our side.
But someone will say that even some of our own fall away from the rule of discipline. Even so, they cease to be counted Christians among us; whereas those philosophers, with such deeds to their name, go right on holding the name and honor of wisdom.
So then, what is alike between a philosopher and a Christian, a disciple of Greece and a disciple of heaven, a trafficker in reputation and a trafficker in life, a worker in words and a worker in deeds, a builder of things and a destroyer of them, a friend of error and an enemy of it, one who adulterates the truth and one who restores and expresses it, its thief and its guardian?