Tertullian · a new plain-English translation from the original language
We ought to hate these gatherings and assemblies of the pagans, if for no other cause than this: there God's name suffers blasphemy, there our daily "Lions!" is demanded against us, from there persecutions are decreed, from there temptations are sent out. What will you do, caught in that seething cauldron of ungodly cheering? Not that you have anything to fear there from men—no one there knows you for a Christian—but consider instead what becomes of you in heaven. Do you doubt that in that very moment, while the devil is raging in his own church, all the angels are looking down from heaven, marking each one by name—who spoke the blasphemy, who listened to it, whose tongue, whose ears, served the devil against God? Will you not, then, flee those benches belonging to the enemies of Christ, that chair of plagues, and the very air overhead, fouled by wicked voices? Let it all be sweet if it likes, and pleasant, and simple, even respectable in some part—no one mixes poison with gall and hellebore; it is mixed into seasoned dishes, well-flavored ones, and it is the sweetest food that carries the worst of the harm. So too the devil steeps the lethal draught he brews in the things God finds most welcome and pleasing. Count everything there—however brave, however fine, however resonant, however tuneful, however clever—as nothing but drops of honey trickling from a poisoned jar, and do not prize the pleasure to your palate as highly as you fear the danger lurking in its sweetness.