Philo of Alexandria · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Having in my earlier treatises set out the lives of the wise men according to Moses, whom the sacred books present as founders of our nation and as living unwritten laws, I shall now, in due sequence, give a precise account of the forms of the laws that were recorded in writing—not passing over any way of allegory that may present itself, for the sake of that love of learning proper to the understanding, whose custom is to seek what is hidden before what is manifest.
To those who are puzzled as to why on earth he set out the laws not in cities but in the depths of the wilderness, it must be said, first, that most cities are full of countless evils, both impious acts against the divine and wrongs committed against one another.
For there is nothing that has not been counterfeited: genuine things are outstripped by spurious ones, and truths by plausibilities, which are false by nature but suggest persuasive appearances in order to deceive.
In cities, then, there grows up that most treacherous thing of all, vanity, which some people gape at and bow down to, dignifying empty opinions with golden crowns and purple robes and crowds of attendants and carriages, on which those called blessed and fortunate are borne aloft, yoking sometimes mules or horses and sometimes even men, who carry the litters on their necks, weighing down the soul
beneath the body through an excess of arrogance. Vanity is also the maker of many other evils—boastfulness, contempt, inequality; and these are the origins of foreign and civil wars, leaving no part, common or private, on land or on sea, at rest. But why need one recall the wrongs people commit against one another?
For through vanity even things divine have been utterly despised, though they are supposed to receive the highest honor; and what honor could there be without the presence of truth, which alone has both a name and a work that are honorable, since falsehood, conversely, is by nature dishonorable?
This disregard of things divine is plain to those who see with sharper sight; for having shaped countless forms through painting and sculpture, they surrounded these with shrines and temples, and having built altars, they assigned to statues and carved images and other such objects honors equal to Olympus and equal to God—honors given to things wholly without soul.
These the sacred writings, with unerring aim, liken to the children of a prostitute: not knowing the one who truly and really is God, they have deified countless multitudes of falsely-named gods.
Then, since different peoples honor different gods, the resulting disagreement over what is best has also produced differences over everything else.
Looking first to these things, he chose to legislate outside the cities. And he considered, second, that the soul of one who was to receive the sacred laws must necessarily be washed and purified of the stains, hard to wash out, which the mingled and promiscuous crowd of humanity rubs off onto people in the cities.
And this could not possibly come about for one who had not been removed to a separate dwelling, and not at once but only a long time afterward, until the imprints of the ancient transgressions, stamped upon the soul, should gradually be dimmed and fade away until they vanished.
This is the very way in which good physicians preserve their patients: they do not think it right to administer food and drink before first removing the causes of the diseases; for as long as these remain, nourishment is not only useless but even harmful, becoming fuel for the disease.
It was fitting, then, that he should lead the people away from the most harmful habits of the cities into the wilderness, so as to empty their souls of wrongdoing, and only then begin to offer nourishment to their minds; and what could this nourishment be, but laws and divine words?
There is a third reason, as follows. Just as those setting out on a long voyage do not begin to fit out sails and rudders and steering-oars once they have boarded ship and put out from harbor, but while still on land make ready each of the things that bear on the voyage, in the same way he thought it right that the people should not, once they had received allotments of land and settled in cities, then begin to seek laws by which to conduct their civic life, but rather that, having first prepared the rules of their constitution and having been trained in the practices by which the people were to be safely governed, they should then take up residence, ready at once to make use of these provisions for justice in concord and community and in the distribution to each of what falls to him.
And some say there is a fourth reason, not out of tune with the truth but very close to it. Since it was necessary that conviction should arise in people's minds that the laws were not inventions of a man but the most clear-cut oracles of God, he led the nation very far from the cities, into a deep and barren wilderness, barren not only of cultivated fruits but even of drinkable water, so that,
if, having come into want of necessities and expecting to perish of thirst and hunger, they should suddenly find an abundance of provisions arising as if of themselves—heaven raining down food, the so-called manna, and, as a relish for their food, a flight of quails borne from the air, and bitter water sweetened into drinkable water, and a hewn rock pouring forth springs—they might no longer wonder that the laws too should turn out to be oracles of God, having received the clearest proof from the provisions they obtained, unhoped for, out of their want.
For he who gave them abundance for mere living was also granting them the means for living well: for living, they needed food and drink, which they found without having prepared them; for living well, they needed laws and ordinances, by which their souls were to be made better.
These, then, are the reasons given, among plausible conjectures, concerning the matter in question; for the true reasons God alone knows. Having said what was fitting on these points, I shall next give a precise account of the laws themselves, first announcing this necessary fact: that of the laws, some God saw fit to proclaim through himself alone, without using anyone else, while others he gave through the prophet Moses, whom he chose out of all as, by merit, the fittest hierophant.
Those, then, that were proclaimed in his own person, through himself alone, turn out to be both laws and, at the same time, the summary headings of the particular laws, while
all those given through the prophet are referred back to those headings. I shall speak, as best I am able, of each in turn, and first of the more summary ones, whose number is straightaway worthy of wonder, being bounded by the perfect number ten, which contains all the varieties of numbers—even, odd, and even-odd (two even, three odd, five even-odd)—and all the ratios of multiples and superparticulars and sub-superparticulars found among numbers, and all the proportions,
the arithmetic proportion, in which the middle term exceeds and is exceeded by an equal amount, as in the case of one and two and three; and the geometric, according to which the ratio of the first term to the second is the same as that of the second to the third, as holds in the case of one and two and four, and in double and triple ratios and multiples generally, and again in ratios of one-and-a-half and one-and-a-third and the like; and further the harmonic proportion, according to which the middle term exceeds and is exceeded by an equal fraction of the extremes, as holds in the case of three and four and six.
The number ten also contains the properties revealed in triangular and square numbers and the other polygonal numbers, and those of the musical concords: the fourth, in the ratio of one-and-a-third, that of four to three; the fifth, in the ratio of one-and-a-half, that of three to two; the octave, in the double ratio, that of two to one; and the double octave, in the quadruple ratio, that of eight to two.
For this reason it seems to me that those who first assigned names to things—for they were wise—fittingly called it "ten" (deka), as though it were "receiver" (dechas), from its receiving and having made room for all the classes of numbers and of ratios expressed in number
and of proportions, and again of harmonies and concords. One might well wonder, too, that the number ten, besides what has been said, and on account of it, contains both the dimensionless nature and the extended: the dimensionless is ordered according to the point alone, while the extended falls under three forms—line, surface, and solid.
For that which is bounded by two points is a line; that which is extended in two dimensions, a line having flowed out into breadth, is a surface; and that which is extended in three, length and breadth having taken on depth as well, is a solid—on which nature comes to rest, for she has produced no more than three dimensions.
The archetypal numbers of these are: one for the point without extension, two for the line, three for the surface, and four for the solid; and the sum of one, two, three, and four produces the decad, which displays to those capable of seeing it both these and other beauties.
For virtually the infinity of numbers is measured by this, since the terms that constitute it are four — one, two, three, and four — and equal terms produce the hundred out of tens (for ten, twenty, thirty, and forty make a hundred), and likewise a thousand out of hundreds and ten thousand out of thousands; the unit, the ten, the hundred, and the thousand are the four terms that generate the decad.
This decad, apart from what has already been said, also reveals other differences among numbers: the first order, which is measured by the unit alone, exemplified by three, five, and seven; the square, exemplified by four, which is equal times equal; and indeed the cube, exemplified by eight, which is equal times equal times equal; and the perfect number, exemplified by six, which is equal to its own parts — three, two, and one.
What need is there to list the virtues of the decad, which are infinite in number, making a mere byproduct of the greatest work, which in itself has proven to be a most sufficient subject for those occupied with mathematics? The rest, then, must be passed over, but it is perhaps not out of place to mention one example.
For those versed in the doctrines of philosophy say that the categories spoken of in nature are ten alone: substance, quality, quantity, relation, action, passion, possession, position, and — the things apart from which nothing at all exists — time and place.
For nothing is without a share in these. For instance, I myself share in substance, having borrowed from each of the elements from which this world was completed — earth, water, air, and fire, which most sufficiently make up my constitution. I also share in quality, by virtue of which I am a human being, and in quantity, by which I am of a certain size. I become an object of relation whenever someone stands at my right or my left. I also act, when I rub or cut something, and I am acted upon, when I am cut or rubbed by others. I am examined in respect of possession too, whether clothed or armed, and in respect of position, whether more or less seated or reclining. And I am altogether in place and in time as well, since none of the things already mentioned can exist apart from both.
Let this much be said adequately; but it is necessary to weave in what follows. The ten words, or oracles, laws or ordinances that are truly such, the Father of all pronounced when the nation, men and women together, had been assembled into an assembly. Did he then utter them himself, in the manner of a voice? Far from it — may such a thought never enter our mind. For God is not like a human being, in need of mouth and tongue and windpipe.
Rather, it seems to me that at that time he wrought a most sacred wonder, commanding an invisible sound to be fashioned in the air, more marvelous than any instrument, tuned to perfect harmonies — not soulless, yet not composed of body and soul in the manner of a living creature, but a rational soul filled with clarity and distinctness, which shaped and stretched the air and turned it into flame-like fire, and like a breath through a trumpet sounded out so great and articulate a voice that those nearest seemed to hear it just as well as those farthest away.
For the voices of human beings, as they stretch out over the greatest distance, naturally grow weak, so that their reception does not become clear to those standing far off, since it grows dim by degrees as it extends, because the organs too are perishable.
But the newly wrought voice, God's power breathing upon it, roused and kindled it, and pouring it out everywhere made the end of it appear as bright and clear as the beginning, implanting in the souls of each a hearing far better than that through the ears. For the sense of hearing, being somewhat slower, remains at rest until it is struck and set in motion by the air, whereas the perception of the divinely inspired understanding runs ahead with the sharpest speed to meet the words being spoken.
So much, then, for the divine Voice. But one might reasonably ask why, when so many tens of thousands had been gathered together into a single place, he saw fit to proclaim each of the ten oracles not as though to many but as to one, saying, 'You shall not commit adultery,' 'You shall not murder,' 'You shall not steal' (Exodus 20:13ff.), and the rest in the same way.
One must say, then, first, that he wishes to teach those who encounter the sacred scriptures a most excellent lesson: that each individual by himself, when he is law-abiding and obedient to God, is of equal worth to an entire nation, however populous — or rather, to all nations, and if one must go further still, to the whole world.
This is why elsewhere, praising a certain righteous man, he says, 'I am your God' (Genesis 17); yet this same one was also God of the world, so that its subjects, being assigned the same rank and equally pleasing to their Commander, might receive an equal share of acceptance and honor.
Second, that one who addresses a crowd in common does not necessarily converse with any one person, whereas when giving a command or a prohibition, addressing each one privately as an individual, he would seem at once to be prescribing what must be done, both individually and collectively to all assembled together; and the one who receives exhortations in his own person is more readily persuaded, whereas the one who is addressed collectively along with others has, as it were, gone deaf, making the crowd a screen for his own unruliness.
Third, so that no king or tyrant might ever look down upon some obscure private person, puffed up with arrogance and disdain, but rather, having attended the schools of the sacred laws, might relax his brow, unlearning conceit through reasonable, or rather true, reckoning.
For if the Unbegotten, the Imperishable, the Eternal, who is in need of nothing, the Maker of all things and their Benefactor, the King of kings and God of gods, did not disdain even the lowliest, but saw fit to feast even him with oracles and sacred ordinances, as though he were about to entertain him alone and the banquet were being prepared for him alone, for the outpouring of a soul undergoing sacred initiation, to whom it is granted to be initiated into the great mysteries — what is it fitting for me, a mortal, to hold my neck high and be puffed up, snorting at my equals, who, though allotted unequal fortunes, share an equal and like kinship, inscribing as their one mother the nature common to all human beings?
I will therefore show myself accessible and easy to approach, even should I gain mastery over land and sea, to those most destitute and disreputable and bereft of any close alliance — orphans of both parents, women enduring widowhood, and old men who either have had no children at all or have lost the short-lived ones they begot.
For being human, I will not think it right to admit pomp and theatrically inflated solemnity, but will remain within the bounds of nature, not overstepping her limits, but accustoming my own mind to feel as a human being feels — not only because of the unforeseeable reversals into their opposites, both for those faring well and those in misfortune, but also because it is fitting, even should good fortune remain unchanging and secure, that one not forget oneself. For these reasons, it seems to me, he wished to proclaim the oracles in the singular, as though addressing a single person.
And, as was fitting, all the surroundings of the place were filled with wonders: the crashes of thunder greater than ears could contain, the most brilliant flashes of lightning, the sound of an invisible trumpet stretching out to the greatest distance, the descent of a cloud which, like a pillar, had its base fixed upon the earth while the rest of its body stretched up to an ethereal height, as the movement of heavenly fire overshadowed the surrounding area with thick smoke. For it was necessary that, as the power of God arrived, no part of the world should remain at rest, but that all things should be set in motion together in service.
And the people stood by, having purified themselves from relations with women and having abstained from all pleasures except those necessary for nourishment, having cleansed themselves with washings and sprinklings for three days, having also washed their garments, clothed in white in the highest degree, standing on tiptoe and with ears raised upright, since Moses had announced in advance that they should prepare themselves for the assembly; for he knew it was to take place, at the time when, called up alone, he was receiving the oracle.
And a voice sounded out from the midst of the fire that had streamed down from heaven, most awe-inspiring, the flame being articulated into a dialect familiar to the hearers, by which the things spoken were made so vividly distinct that they seemed to be seen rather than heard.
The Law vouches for my account, in which it is written: 'All the people saw the voice' (Exodus 20:18) — most emphatically; for it is the case that the voice of human beings is something heard, but the voice of God is truly something seen. Why? Because whatever God says is not words but deeds, which the eyes judge in preference to the ears.
It has, moreover, been said most beautifully and in a manner befitting God, that the voice proceeded out of the fire; for the oracles of God have been refined and tested like gold in fire. And it also signifies something further through this symbol:
since it is the nature of fire both to give light and to burn, those who see fit to be obedient to the oracles will live all their days as in unshadowed light, having the laws themselves as stars shining in their souls, whereas those who are rebellious continue to be burned and consumed by the desires within them, which, like a flame, will ravage the whole life of those who possess them.
These, then, are the things that had to be set forth in advance. We must now turn to the oracles themselves and examine all the distinctions among them. Being ten, then, he divided them into two sets of five, which he inscribed on two tablets; and the former set of five obtained the primacy, while the other was accorded second place — yet both are beautiful and beneficial to life, opening up broad and public roads that lead to a single goal, for the soul's unstumbling journey as it ever reaches for what is best.
These, then, are the things it was necessary to explain in advance. Now we must turn to the oracles themselves and investigate every point of difference in them. Being ten, he divided them into two sets of five, which he engraved on two tablets. The first five received the primacy, and the second was deemed worthy of second place. Both are excellent and beneficial to life, holding open broad and public roads that end in a single goal, meant for the unstumbling journey of a soul that always reaches for the best.
The better five were of this kind: concerning sole sovereignty, by which the world is ruled by one; concerning carved images and statues and, in general, hand-made representations; concerning not taking the name of God in vain; concerning keeping the sacred seventh day in a manner befitting its holiness; concerning honor for parents, both for each separately and for both together — so that the beginning of the one table is God, the Father and Maker of the universe, and its end is parents, who by imitating his nature beget particular beings. The other five contains all the prohibitions: against adultery, murder, theft, false witness, and desire.
Each of the oracles must be examined with complete precision, treating none of them as incidental. The best beginning of all things is God, and of the virtues, piety; concerning these it is most necessary to go through first. No small error has gripped the greater part of the human race concerning a matter which, alone or above all, it was likely should stand most free from error, firmly fixed in the understanding of each person.
For some have deified the four elements — earth, water, air, and fire — others the sun and moon and the rest of the planets and fixed stars, others only the heaven, others the entire universe. But the highest and eldest, the begetter, the ruler of the great city, the commander of the invincible army, the pilot who always steers the universe to safety — this one they concealed, applying to those other things false names, different names by different people.
For some call the earth Kore, Demeter, Pluto; the sea Poseidon, fashioning for him sea-deities as subordinates and great throngs of attendants both male and female; the air Hera; fire Hephaestus; the sun Apollo; the moon Artemis; the morning star Aphrodite; and the shining one Hermes.
And the mythographers have handed down names for each of the other stars, having woven together cleverly-crafted fictions for the deceiving of the ear, and they think themselves to have shown elegance in the assigning of names.
Dividing the heaven in their account into two hemispheres, the one above the earth and the other below it, they called them the Dioscuri, adding the monstrous tale of their alternating-day existence.
For since the heaven revolves continuously and unceasingly in a circle, each of the hemispheres must necessarily change places day by day, becoming above and below only in appearance; for in a sphere there is in truth no above or below, but relative to our own position it is customary to call only the region over our head "above," and the opposite "below."
To one who has resolved to philosophize without adulteration and who lays claim to guileless and pure piety, this most excellent and most holy precept is given: to suppose that no part of the cosmos is God in its own right and self-ruling. For it too has come into being, and coming-into-being is the beginning of destruction, even if by the providence of its maker it is made deathless; and there was once a time when it was not. But to say that God once did not exist and came into being from
some point in time, and does not endure forever, is not permitted. Yet some have reached such a pitch of madness in their judgments that they not only regard the things named as gods, but each one of them as the greatest and first god — the one who truly exists — either not knowing him, by a nature untaught, or not taking the trouble to learn him, because they suppose that nothing invisible and intelligible beyond the objects of sense could be a cause, even though the clearest proof of it lies close at hand.
For though living by the soul, and taking counsel, and doing everything that belongs to human life, they have never been able to see the soul with the eyes of the body, even though they would have striven with every ambition, if it were somehow possible, to see that most sacred of all images, from which, by a transition, it would have been natural to gain a conception of the unbegotten and eternal one, who, holding the reins of the whole cosmos, invisible as he is, guides it safely.
Just as, if someone gave to subordinate satraps the honors due to the Great King, he would seem not merely most senseless but most reckless of all, granting to slaves what belongs to their master — in the same way, if anyone gives the same honors to the things that have come into being as to the one who made them, let him know that he is of all men the most senseless and unjust, giving equal things to unequal, not to honor the lowlier but to bring down the greater.
There are some who go still further in impiety, not even rendering equal honor, but granting to created things everything belonging to honor, while assigning to him nothing — not even memory, the most common thing of all. For they forget the very one whom alone it was fitting to remember, these wretched men cultivating a deliberate forgetfulness.
And some, gripped by a raving frenzy of the tongue, bring the proofs of their deep-rooted impiety into the open and attempt to blaspheme the divine, having sharpened a slanderous tongue, wishing at the same time to grieve the pious, upon whom an unspeakable and inconsolable grief immediately descends, setting the whole soul aflame through the ears. For this is the siege-engine of the unholy, by which alone they silence the God-loving, who think it best, in order not to provoke them further for the present, to keep silence.
Rejecting, then, all such foolery, let us not bow down to our brothers by nature, even if they have received a purer and more immortal substance — for all created things are brothers to one another, insofar as they have come into being, since the maker of all is one father of the universe — but rather let us strive with mind and reason and all our strength toward the service of the unbegotten, eternal cause of all things, vigorously and firmly, not yielding or submitting to the favor-currying of the multitude, by which even those capable of being saved are corrupted.
Let us, then, engrave upon ourselves as the first commandment, and the most sacred of commandments, to believe in and honor the one supreme God; and let the doctrine of many gods not so much as touch the ears of a man accustomed to seek truth purely and without guile.
But as for those who are ministers and servants of the sun and moon and the whole heaven and cosmos and the most essential parts within them, regarding these as gods, they err — how could they not? — in glorifying subjects above their ruler; yet they do less wrong than those who have fashioned wood and stone, silver and gold, and similar materials into shapes as each pleased, then regarded as gods the statues and carved images and other hand-made things, whose makers, sculpture and painting, have done great harm to human life, filling the inhabited world with them.
For these have cut away the finest support of the soul, the proper conception of the ever-living God; and like unballasted ships they are tossed here and there throughout their whole life, never able to put in at harbor or anchor firmly in truth, blind to the one thing worth seeing, toward which alone it was necessary to have sharp sight.
And they seem to me to live more wretchedly than those deprived of bodily sight; for the latter were harmed unwillingly, either suffering a grievous disease of the eyes or being schemed against by enemies, whereas the former, by their own deliberate choice, not only dimmed the eye of the soul but saw fit to cast it away entirely.
Hence pity justly follows the one group, as unfortunate, and punishment the other, as wicked — men who, among their other failures, did not grasp even the most obvious thing, which "even a child could know": that the craftsman is better than the thing crafted, both in time — for he is older, and in a sense the father of what is made — and in power; for the one who acts is more glorious than the one acted upon.
And though, if indeed they were bound to err at all, they ought to have deified the painters and sculptors themselves with excessive honors, they instead left these men in obscurity, giving them nothing further, while regarding the figures and paintings crafted by them as gods.
And the craftsmen themselves often grew old in poverty and obscurity, dying amid one misfortune after another, while the things they crafted are made solemn and worshipped with purple and gold and the other extravagances that wealth provides, not only among free men but among men of noble birth and finest bodily form — for even the lineage of priests is examined with complete precision, whether it is beyond reproach, and likewise the wholeness of every part of the body, whether it is entirely complete.
And this is not yet the worst of it, terrible as it is; but this is utterly grievous: I know of some who have prayed to and sacrificed to the things made by their own hands, when it would have been far better for them to bow down to either of their own hands — or, if they wished to avoid the appearance of self-love, at least to the hammers and anvils and chisels and pincers and the other tools by which the materials were shaped.
Yet it is worth speaking frankly to men who have reached such a pitch of madness: the best of prayers, noble sirs, and the goal of happiness, is likeness to God.
Pray, then, that you too may become like your images, so that you may reap the highest happiness — with eyes that do not see, ears that do not hear, nostrils that neither breathe nor smell, a mouth that does not speak or taste, hands that neither take nor give nor do anything, feet that do not walk, nor any other part that functions — but, guarded and kept as though in a prison, that is, in the shrine, day and night drawing in the smoke that ever rises from the sacrifices; for this alone is the good thing you attribute further to your images.
But I for my part think that on hearing this they would be indignant, not as at a prayer but as at a curse, and would turn to retaliating with abuse, countering with accusations — which would be the greatest proof of the impiety now prevailing among men who regard as gods things
Let no one who possesses a soul, then, bow down to anything soulless; for it is altogether absurd that the works of nature should be turned to the service of things fashioned by hand. Against the Egyptians a special charge applies, distinct from the one common to every land: for beside their carved images and statues they have led irrational animals up to the honors of gods—bulls and rams and goats—fabricating for each some fantastic myth.
These, perhaps, have some rationale, for they are the gentlest and most useful animals to life. The ox cuts the furrows at seed-time and, when the grain must be threshed, is again the most capable. The ram provides the finest of coverings, clothing; for bodies left bare would easily perish, whether from heat or from immoderate cold, at one time from the sun's scorching, at another from the chill of the air.
But now they go still further and honor, with sacred precincts, temples, sacrifices, festivals, processions, and the like, the wildest and most untamable of the savage beasts—lions and crocodiles and the poison-fanged asp among reptiles. For having searched through each of the two elements given to men for use by God, earth and water, they found among land creatures none more savage than the lion, nor among water creatures any wilder than the crocodile—and these they revere and honor.
Many other animals besides they have deified: dogs, cats, wolves; among birds, ibises and hawks; and again, of fish, either whole bodies or parts of them.
What could be more ridiculous than this? Indeed, foreigners who first arrive in Egypt, before the native delusion has settled into their minds, die laughing at it in mockery; but those who have tasted true education, struck with amazement at the solemn pomp attached to such shameful matters, pity those who practice it, supposing them—as is likely—more wretched than the very creatures they honor, their souls having migrated, as it were, into those animals, so that they seem to wander about as beasts in human shape.
Having, then, removed from the sacred legislation every such deification, he called men to the honor of the God who truly is—he who has no need of honor for himself, for he who is most self-sufficient stood in need of nothing else—but wishing to lead the human race, wandering as it was on trackless paths, onto the one road free from error, so that by following nature it might find the best end, namely the knowledge of that which truly is, which is the first and most perfect good, from which, as from a spring, the particular goods that belong to the cosmos and to the beings within it are watered.
Having discussed as fully as possible the second exhortation, let us examine with precision the one that follows in order. It is this: not to take the name of God in vain (Exodus 20:7). The reasoning behind this order is plain to those whose minds see keenly: a name is always secondary to the thing that underlies it, like a shadow that clings to a body.
Having first spoken, then, of the existence and honor of the One who exists eternally, following the natural sequence of thought he next gave fitting instruction concerning invocation of the name; for the sins men commit in this matter are many and varied in kind.
The finest thing, most beneficial to life, and most fitting to a rational nature, is to swear no oaths at all—trained to speak the truth in every matter so consistently that one's very words are trusted as if they were oaths. A second-best course, as they say, is to swear truly.
For the man who swears is already suspected of unreliability. Let him be reluctant, then, and slow, if by any postponement he can put off the oath; but if some necessity compels him, he must examine with care, not carelessly, each of the matters involved.
For the matter is no small one, even if custom has made it seem trivial. An oath is God's testimony concerning matters in dispute; and to call God as witness to a falsehood is the most impious thing of all. Come, then, if you will, look with reason into the mind of one about to swear falsely: you will see it not at rest but full of tumult and confusion, self-accusing, enduring every kind of outrage and blasphemy against itself.
For the conscience innate in and dwelling together with every soul, which never accepts what is blameworthy, being by nature always a hater of evil and a lover of virtue, is at once accuser and judge in one; stirred to action, as accuser it charges, accuses, and puts to shame, and again as judge it instructs, admonishes, and urges a change of course. If it succeeds in persuading, it is reconciled with joy; but if it fails, it wages relentless war, never withdrawing by day or by night, but goading and wounding incurably, until it has broken the wretched and accursed life.
What are you saying, I would say to the perjurer—will you dare to go up to one of your acquaintances and say: friend, come and bear witness for me to things you neither saw nor heard, as though you had seen, as though you had heard, as though you had followed the whole matter? I think not.
For that would be the act of incurable madness. Since with what eyes, sober and in your right mind, will you look your friend in the face and say: for the sake of our friendship, join me in wrongdoing, join me in transgression, join me in impiety? For it is clear that, were he to hear such words, he would bid a hearty farewell to the friendship supposedly between you, reproach himself for ever having shared friendship with such a man in the first place, and flee as from a savage, rabid beast.
Then, to a thing you would not dare bring even before a friend, do you not blush to call God as witness—the Father and Ruler of the cosmos? Is it because you know that he sees and hears all things, or because you are ignorant of this?
If you are ignorant, then you are godless in some sense—and godlessness is the source of every wrongdoing. And beyond your godlessness, you also outmaneuver the oath itself, swearing by one you take to have no care, as though he were attentive to human affairs. But if you know clearly that he exercises providence, then you have left no room beyond your impiety, saying—if not with mouth and tongue, then at least in your inmost awareness before God—bear me false witness, join in my wickedness, join in my villainy; my only hope of gaining repute among men is that you conceal the truth; become wicked for another's sake, the better man for the worse, and all this for the sake of a corrupt human being—you who are God, best of all.
There are some, moreover, who, with no gain whatever in view, swear from sheer habit of wickedness, carelessly and without examination, over the most trivial matters, though nothing at all is in dispute, padding out their speech with oaths, as though it were not better to endure a curtailment of words—indeed, complete silence—rather than this. For from an excess of swearing grows perjury, and from perjury, impiety.
Therefore the man who is about to swear must examine everything carefully and with great precision: whether the matter is of real weight, whether it has actually occurred, and whether, once done, it has been firmly established; and he must examine himself, whether he is pure in soul, body, and tongue—the soul free from transgression, the body from defilement, the tongue from blasphemy. For it is not holy that the mouth through which one utters the most sacred name should also give voice to anything shameful.
Let him search out, too, a fitting place and time; for I know—indeed I know—of some who, in profane and unclean places, where it would not be worthy even to mention a father or a mother, or indeed any elder of good life among strangers, take oaths and string together whole speeches full of them, misusing the many-named title of God where it ought never to be brought, to the point of impiety.
Let the man who holds these matters in low regard know that, first of all, he is defiled and unclean, and further, that the greatest punishments always lie in wait for him, since the justice that oversees human affairs remains unyielding and inexorable toward wrongs of such magnitude. And whenever it does not see fit to punish at once, it seems only to be lending out the penalties on credit, penalties which, when the time comes, it exacts together with what serves the common good.
The fourth commandment concerns the sacred seventh day, that it be observed with reverence and holiness. Some cities celebrate this once a month, reckoning from the new moon according to God's ordinance, but the nation of the Jews observes it continually, every six days without interruption.
There is an account recorded in the writings on the creation of the cosmos which contains the necessary reason for this: for it says that the cosmos was created in six days, and that on the seventh God, having ceased from his works, began to contemplate what had been so beautifully made.
He commanded, then, that those who were to live under this constitution should, in this matter too, follow God as in all others—turning to labor for six days, but resting on the seventh, given over to philosophy and devoting themselves to the contemplation of the things of nature, and examining also whether anything had been done impurely in the previous days, giving an account to themselves and a reckoning of what they had said or done, in the council-chamber of the soul, with the laws sitting in session and joining in the inquiry, both for the correction of what had been overlooked and as a safeguard against ever erring again.
But God made use of the six days only once, to bring the cosmos to completion, having no need of any length of time; whereas every human being, sharing as he does in a mortal nature and standing in need of countless things for the necessities of life, ought never to grow weary of providing what is needful, all the way to the end of life, resting only on the sacred seventh days.
Is this not a most excellent exhortation, most capable of urging one on to every virtue, and above all to piety? Be always, he says, like God. Let the single six-day period in which he fashioned the cosmos be for you a model sufficient for the appointed limit of your works; and let the seventh day, on which he is said to look over what he had made, be a model of the need to practice philosophy, so that you too may study closely the things of nature, and all that is your own that contributes to happiness.
Let us not pass by such an archetype of the best lives, the practical and the contemplative, but always looking to it, let us engrave clear images and impressions on our own minds, likening our mortal nature, so far as is possible, to the immortal, in speaking and doing what we ought. As for how the world is said to have come into being in six days by God, who needed no time at all to make it, this has been explained through what was allegorized
elsewhere. But the special privilege that the number seven has been granted among existing things is shown by those who have devoted themselves to the mathematical sciences, who have traced it out most carefully and attentively. For this is the virgin among numbers, the motherless nature, the number most akin to the monad and to the origin, the form of the planets—since the fixed sphere too is a monad. For from the monad and the hebdomad comes the incorporeal heaven, the model of the visible one.
The heaven is composed of the undivided nature and the divided. The undivided nature possesses the first, the highest, and the fixed revolution, over which the monad presides; the divided nature possesses the second, both in power and in order, over which the hebdomad has charge—the hebdomad which, divided sixfold, produced the seven so-called planets.
Not that any of the heavenly bodies that share in a divine, blessed, and happy nature has actually gone astray—for fixity is most proper to all of them, since they run through the ages preserving an unvarying sameness, admitting no turning or change—but they are called “wanderers” because they revolve in the opposite direction to the undivided and outermost sphere; and the name was applied to them, not properly, by rather careless people, who ascribed their own wandering to the heavenly bodies, which never abandon the order of the divine army.
For these reasons, then, and for others besides, the number seven has been honored; but it has received no privilege so great as this, that through it the Maker and Father of all things is most clearly revealed. For it is as through a mirror that the mind forms an image of God acting, fashioning the world, and governing all things.
After the commandments about the seventh day, he lays down the fifth commandment, concerning the honor due to parents, giving it the position at the border between the two sets of five. For being the last of the first set, in which the most sacred matters are commanded, it also joins the second set, which contains the duties of justice toward other people.
The reason, I think, is this: the nature of parents seems to stand at the border between mortal and immortal being—mortal, because of their kinship with human beings and the other animals in the perishability of the body; immortal, because in begetting they are made like God, the begetter of all things.
Now some, having allotted themselves to the one portion, have seemed to neglect the other; for having drunk deep of an unmixed longing for piety, and having bid farewell to all other pursuits, they have devoted their entire life to the service of God.
Others, supposing that there is no good outside the requirements of justice toward other people, have embraced only fellowship with others, sharing the use of good things equally with all out of a longing for community, and thinking it right to lighten hardships as far as they are able.
One might justly call the latter lovers of humanity and the former lovers of God, but both are only half-complete in virtue; for those who are esteemed in both respects are whole. But whoever qualifies for neither group—not counted among those who deal justly with other people, rejoicing over the common good and grieving over its opposite, nor among those who hold to piety and holiness—would seem to have been transformed into the nature of wild beasts. And of the savagery of these, the prize for cruelty goes to those who show no regard for their parents, being enemies of both portions, both the portion
toward God and the portion toward human beings. Let them not fail to realize that they stand convicted in the two courts that alone exist in nature: of impiety, in the divine court, because they do not honor those who brought them from non-being into being and in this imitated God; and of hatred of humanity, in the human court.
For whom else will those do good who neglect their nearest kin, the very people who have given them the greatest gifts—gifts so far beyond measure that some do not even admit of repayment? For how could the one who was begotten beget in return those who sowed him, since nature has granted parents, in relation to their children, a special allotment that cannot come round again in exchange? Hence it is altogether fitting to be indignant if such people, though unable to give everything in return, are not even willing to offer the lightest of gifts.
To such people I would rightly say: even wild beasts must be tamed toward human beings; and I have often known lions, bears, and leopards that have been tamed—not only toward those who feed them, out of gratitude for necessities, but also toward others, because, I think, of their resemblance to their keepers. For it is always good for the lesser to follow the better, in hope of improvement.
But now I shall be forced to say the opposite: become imitators, you human beings, of certain beasts. For those creatures know, and have been trained, to return benefit for benefit. Watchdogs guard their masters and die before them, whenever some sudden danger overtakes them; and they say that the dogs that fight in defense of the flocks stand their ground, even to victory or death, in order to keep their shepherds unharmed.
Is it not then the most shameful of shameful things, for a human being—the tamest of animals—to be outdone by a dog, the boldest of beasts, in the repayment of favors? But if we will not be taught by land animals, let us turn to the winged, air-traveling creatures, to learn from them what we must.
Among storks, the aged ones remain in their nests, unable to fly, while their offspring, flying over what I might almost call the whole earth and sea, bring in food for their parents from every quarter.
And the elders, resting as befits their age, spend their whole time in unstinting abundance, while the young, easing the hardships of foraging by their piety and by the expectation that they will suffer the same in old age at the hands of their own offspring, repay a necessary debt—receiving it and repaying it each at the right season, when neither party is able to feed itself: the young at the beginning of life, the parents at the end of it. So it is that, having been fed as chicks by self-taught nature, they gladly feed their parents in old age.
Is it not fitting, then, that human beings who neglect their parents should hide their faces in shame at this and reproach themselves, for having disregarded the one thing—or at least the foremost thing—they were bound to care for, and that not even by giving but merely by giving back? For children have nothing of their own that does not belong to their parents, either given from the parents' own household or made possible by them as the cause of its acquisition.
As for piety and holiness, the leading virtues—do such people really keep them within the boundaries of their souls? No, they have driven them beyond the borders and exiled them; for parents are God's servants for the begetting of children, and whoever dishonors the servant dishonors, along with him, the master as well.
Some of the bolder thinkers, exalting the name of parents, say that a father and a mother are visible gods, imitating the Unbegotten in the shaping of living creatures—except that he is God of the universe, while they are gods only of the children they have begotten. But it is impossible for the invisible God to be honored by those who are impious toward the visible ones who are close at hand.
Having philosophized so extensively on the honor due to parents, he brings the other, more divine set of five to its close. Then, setting down the second set, which contains the prohibitions concerning our duties to other people, he begins with adultery, judging this to be the greatest of wrongs.
For, in the first place, it has as its source the love of pleasure, which both enervates the bodies of those possessed by it and slackens the sinews of the soul, and destroys estates—burning up, like an unquenchable fire, everything it touches, and leaving nothing in human life unscathed.
Next, it persuades the adulterer not only to do wrong himself but to teach another to join in the wrongdoing, establishing a partnership in matters that admit no partnership. For once the frenzy has taken hold, it is impossible for desire to reach its end through one person alone; two must always act together, one taking the role of instructor and the other of pupil, to confirm incontinence and lust, the most shameful of evils.
Nor is it even possible to say that only the body of the adulterous woman is corrupted; rather, if the truth must be told, it is her soul, even before her body, that is accustomed to estrangement, being taught in every way to turn away from and hate her husband.
And it would be a lesser evil if this hatred showed itself openly—for what is plain to see is easier to guard against—but as it is, it is hard to suspect and hard to detect, being screened by cunning devices, and sometimes even creating, through certain enchantments and deceptions, the opposite impression of love.
Indeed, they show three households utterly overturned: that of the man wronged by the breaking of the marriage covenant, who is cut off from his hopes at the wedding and his hopes for legitimate children; and two others besides, that of the adulterer and that of the woman. For each of these is filled with outrage, dishonor, and the gravest reproaches.
And if the families involved happen to be numerous, through intermarriages and other mutual connections, the wrong will spread in a circle and touch the whole city.
Utterly grievous too is the doubt cast over children: when a woman does not keep herself pure, it becomes uncertain and unclear whose child, in truth, the one she bears actually is. Then, since the matter goes undetected, children of adultery usurp the place of the legitimate and falsify a lineage not their own, inheriting, under the guise of a father's estate, a portion to which they have no right at all.
And the adulterer, having indulged his outrage and vented his passion, having sown a seed liable to prosecution, once he has had his fill of desire, goes off and abandons it, treating the ignorance of the wronged husband as a joke; while the husband, blind to what has gone on in secret, will be forced to cherish, as his own dearest offspring, children born of his bitterest enemy.
But if the wrong should come to light, the most wretched of all would be the unfortunate children, who have done no wrong, yet can be reckoned to belong to neither family — neither that of the husband nor that of the adulterer.
Since unlawful union produces such calamities, adultery — a thing rightly loathed and hated by God — was fittingly recorded as the first of the offenses.
The second commandment is not to murder. For nature, having brought forth the most gentle of animals, man, as a creature suited to flock and community, called him to concord and fellowship, giving him reason as a means to bind together harmony and blending of characters. Whoever kills another, then, should not be ignorant that he is overturning the laws and ordinances of nature, laws written well and for the benefit of all.
Let him know, too, that he is guilty of sacrilege, for he has plundered the most sacred of God's possessions. For what dedicated object is more solemn or holy than a human being? Gold and silver and precious stones and all the other most valuable materials are but ornament for buildings — lifeless things suited to lifeless things.
But a human being — the best of living creatures with respect to the better part within him, the soul — is most closely akin to heaven, the purest part of reality, and, as most hold, to the Father of the universe, since he has received the mind as the most fitting image and likeness of the eternal and blessed Form of all things on earth.
The third command of the second set of five is not to steal. For whoever gapes after what belongs to others is a common enemy of the city, in intention taking what belongs to everyone though in practice only what belongs to some, because while his greed extends as far as possible, his weakness lags behind and is confined to little, reaching only a few.
As many thieves, then, as have gained power plunder entire cities, disregarding the penalties, because they are thought to stand above the laws. These are the men oligarchic by nature, who lust after tyrannies and dominations, who commit great thefts, concealing under solemn names of rule and leadership what is, in truth, banditry.
From earliest childhood, then, let a person be taught to take nothing belonging to others in secret, however small, because habit, given time, becomes stronger than nature, and small things, if not checked, grow and increase toward greater size.
Having forbidden theft, he next prohibits false witness, knowing that false witnesses are liable for many great and altogether grievous offenses. First, they corrupt solemn truth, than which there is no more sacred possession in life, since it clothes affairs with light like the sun's, so that nothing in them lies in shadow.
Second, besides lying, they wrap matters in what amounts to night and deep darkness, and they collaborate with wrongdoers while attacking the wronged, affirming with absolute certainty things they neither saw nor heard nor can know for sure.
They also commit a third transgression, more troublesome than the previous ones: when there is a shortage of proof through speech or documents, those with disputes take refuge in witnesses, whose words become the standards by which judges must render their verdicts; for judges are compelled to rely on these alone, there being nothing else available for scrutiny. The result is that those falsely accused, though truly wronged, are unable to prevail, while the judges who attend to them write down unjust and unlawful verdicts instead of lawful and just ones.
Yet this piece of villainy reaches even to impiety; for it is not customary to give judgment without oaths, but with the most fearsome oaths, which the deceivers transgress before those they are deceiving, since the fault of the latter is unintentional, while the former plot with knowledge, erring deliberately and persuading those in authority over the verdict to share in their wrongdoing, unaware of what they are doing, to the punishment of people who deserve no penalty at all. For these reasons, then, it seems to me, he forbade false witness.
Last, he forbids desiring, knowing that desire is revolutionary and scheming. For all the passions of the soul are troublesome, moving and shaking it contrary to nature and not allowing it to be healthy, but desire is the most troublesome of all; for while each of the others seems to come from outside and befall the soul involuntarily, desire alone takes its origin from within ourselves and is voluntary.
What do I mean by this? The appearance of a present and supposed good stirs and rouses the soul from its rest and lifts it up, exceedingly aloft, just as light flashing up rouses the eyes; and this passion of the soul is called pleasure.
The opposite of the good is evil, and when it forces its way in and delivers a decisive blow, it immediately fills the soul, against its will, with dejection and gloom.
The name for this passion is grief. But when the evil, not yet settled in, presses upon the soul while still only about to arrive and being made ready, it sends ahead panic and anguish as ill-omened messengers to strike terror; and this passion is called fear.
But whenever someone, having conceived a notion of a good not present, longs to attain it, driving the soul onward to the greatest possible extent, stretching it out as far as it will go, straining to touch the object of desire, he is stretched as if upon a wheel, eager to grasp it yet unable to reach it, suffering the same fate as those who chase someone withdrawing before them — with less speed, but with an eagerness that cannot be matched.
Something similar seems to happen also with the senses. The eyes, often straining to grasp some visible object situated very far away, stretching themselves and being carried well beyond their capacity, slip as it were into a void, failing to gain accurate knowledge of the object, and moreover their sight grows weak and dim from the violent strain of the fixed effort.
And again, when an indistinct noise comes from a great distance, the ears, roused and pricked up, strain and hasten to draw as near as possible, longing for the sound to become clear to the hearing; but it —
— for it still falls upon them faint, it seems — yields nothing clearer for perception, so that the yearning to grasp it, endless and impossible to satisfy, is only further intensified, desire bringing with it a punishment worthy of Tantalus. For just as Tantalus, whenever he was about to touch whatever he reached for, failed to obtain it, so too the person mastered by desire, forever thirsting for what is absent, is never filled, but writhes about an emptiness of longing.
And just as creeping diseases, unless checked beforehand by incisions or cauterizations, spread in a circle and overtake the whole community of the body, leaving no part unaffected, so too, unless reason — acting according to philosophy, like a good physician — checks the flow of desire, all the affairs of life will necessarily be moved contrary to nature; for there is nothing set apart that escapes this passion, but once it gains license and free rein, it ranges over and ravages everything through everything.
Perhaps it is foolish to speak at length about things so obvious, which what man or city does not recognize, not merely every day but almost every hour, presenting clear proof? Is desire for money, or for a woman, or for reputation, or for anything else that produces pleasure, really the cause of small and ordinary evils?
Is it not because of this that kinship ties are estranged, their natural goodwill transformed into implacable hostility, and great and populous countries are laid waste by civil strife, while land and sea are filled with ever-renewed disasters through naval battles and land campaigns?
For all the wars, tragic in their telling, that Greeks and barbarians have waged both among themselves and against each other, have flowed from a single source: desire -- whether of money, reputation, or pleasure. It is over these things that the human race wastes away.
Enough on this subject. But one must not fail to recognize this too: that the ten pronouncements are the summary headings of the particular laws recorded throughout the whole legislation in the sacred books.
The first concerns sole sovereignty: these words make clear that there is one cause of the cosmos, one ruler and king, who alone guides and steers the universe to its safety -- having driven oligarchy and mob-rule, conspiratorial forms of government that spring up among the worst of men out of disorder and greed, out of heaven, the purest part of being.
The second is the summary heading of all that was legislated concerning things made by hand: images, carved idols, and images set up generally -- for painting and sculpture are harmful craftsmen -- forbidding their manufacture and forbidding also the acceptance of any fictions of myth, the marriages and births of gods, and the countless and most grievous calamities that attend both.
The third restrains all unsworn matters, and lays down on what one must swear, and when, and where, and in what state of soul and body, and all that pertains to lawful oaths and, on the other hand, to their abuse.
The fourth, concerning the Sabbath, must be regarded as nothing other than the summary heading of the festivals and of the prayers and complete sacrifices that answer to them, by which worship was carried out.
By ‘seventh’ I mean both the one joined to the most fertile six, and the one without the six, which stands before it, resembling the unit; and to each of these he assigns in turn the festivals: to the unit, the sacred new-moon festival, which they signal with trumpets, and the fast, in which abstinence from food and drink is prescribed, and the festival that the Hebrews in their ancestral tongue call Passover, at which each of them sacrifices on behalf of the whole people, not waiting for their priests, since the law granted the entire nation, for one special day each year, the privilege of priesthood for the performance of sacrifices with their own hands;
and further, the day on which the sheaf is offered in thanksgiving for the fertility and yield of the plain, filled out through the ripening of the ears; and, reckoned from that day by seven weeks, the fiftieth day, on which it is customary to bring loaves called, quite properly, of the first-fruits, since they are the first-fruits of the produce and crops of cultivated food, which God has apportioned to man, the most cultivated of living things.
To the seven he assigned the greatest and most extended festivals, according to the equinoxes of the year, spring and autumn, devoting two of seven days each to the two seasons -- the one in spring, for the completion of the sowing, the autumn one for the ingathering of all the crops, including those the trees bore. Seven days were fittingly apportioned to each of the seven months of the equinoxes, so that each month might receive its own special prize, one sacred, festal day, for cheerfulness and enjoyment of leisure.
There are also included other laws, very finely established, that call men to gentleness, community, freedom from arrogance, and equality. Of these, some concern what is called the sabbatical, according to which it is prescribed to let the land lie fallow every seventh year, neither sowing nor plowing nor pruning trees nor cutting them nor performing any of the other tasks of agriculture;
for after six years of labor, in which the plain and the hill country have been worked for the production of crops and the yearly bearing of tribute, he judged them worthy of release, so that they might breathe and be set free by enjoying, unbidden, their own nature.
Others concern the fiftieth year, in which what has just been described is carried out and -- the most necessary thing -- the restoration of allotments to those who received them at the beginning by lot, a matter full of humanity and justice.
The fifth, concerning the honor due to parents, hints at many necessary laws, those recorded concerning the old and the young, those concerning rulers and subjects, those concerning benefactors and beneficiaries, those concerning slaves and masters.
For parents belong to the superior rank among those named -- the rank of elders, rulers, benefactors, masters -- while children belong to the lesser rank, that of the younger, the subjects, the beneficiaries, the slaves.
Many other things besides have been enjoined: for the young, the acceptance of old age; for the old, care for youth; for subjects, obedience to their rulers; for rulers, benefit to those they govern; for those who have received benefits, the return of gratitude; for those who conferred gifts, not to seek repayment as though for loans; for servants, service devoted to their masters; for masters, gentleness and mildness, through which inequality is made equal.
In these the first set of five comes to its completion, containing a summary pattern, while the particular laws are not few in number. Of the second set, the first heading concerns adulterers, under which very many ordinances are ranged: that against seducers, that against those who commit acts with boys, that against those who live too lasciviously, indulging in unlawful and unrestrained relations and unions.
He has set down these various forms not in order to publicize the manifold and varied character of licentiousness, but in order to shame most plainly those who live indecently, pouring into their ears all at once a mass of reproaches, at which they will blush.
The second heading is the prohibition against murder, under which fall all the necessary and thoroughly beneficial laws concerning acts of violence, outrage, assault, wounds, and maiming.
The third is the prohibition against theft, under which are ranged the ordinances concerning fraudulent debt-cancellations, denial of deposits, partnerships that share nothing in common, shameless plundering, and greed in general -- through which some are persuaded to appropriate what belongs to others, whether openly or in secret.
The fourth is the prohibition against false witness, under which many things are comprised: not to deceive, not to bring false accusations, not to collaborate with wrongdoers, not to make trust a cloak for faithlessness -- for all of which fitting laws have been established.
The fifth is the one that restrains the source of injustices, desire, from which flow the most lawless acts, private and public, small and great, sacred and profane, concerning bodies, souls, and what are called external things; for nothing escapes desire, as was said before, but like a flame in timber it ranges about, consuming and destroying everything.
Many provisions have also been laid down concerning those who fall under its power, both for the correction of those who admit of admonition, and for the punishment of the intractable, who have surrendered their whole life to passion.
So much, then, has been said adequately about the second set of five, for the completion of the ten oracles, which God himself pronounced in a manner befitting his holiness. For it was fitting to his nature to proclaim in his own person the summary headings of the particular laws, but to give the particular laws themselves through the most perfect of the prophets, whom he selected for his excellence and, having filled him with the divine spirit, chose as interpreter of the oracles pronounced.
After this, let us state the reason why he declared the ten words, or laws, in bare commands and prohibitions against those who would transgress them, as lawgivers customarily do, without fixing any penalty. He was God, and moreover a good Lord, the cause of good things alone, and of no evil.
Since, then, he supposed it most fitting to his own nature to command the saving precepts unmixed with, and having no share in, punishment—so that no one, using irrational fear as counselor, might choose the best things unwillingly, but rather by sound reasoning, according to a voluntary judgment—he did not see fit to proclaim them together with chastisement; not that he granted impunity to wrongdoers, but because he knew that justice, seated beside him and overseer of human affairs, would never rest, since by nature she hates wickedness and, as though it were a task belonging to her own kin, would undertake vengeance against those who sin.
For it befits the servants and lieutenants of God—like generals in war against deserters who abandon the ranks of justice—to employ instruments of punishment; but it befits the great King to have inscribed upon himself the common security of the whole universe, as guardian of peace and supplier of all the goods of peace, richly and ungrudgingly, always, to all people everywhere. For in truth God is president of peace, while his subordinates are commanders of wars.