書信與論戰集（CSEL） 第 40 章

There is a great question about lying, which often troubles us in our very daily doings, lest we either rashly accuse of lying what is not a lie, or think that sometimes we must lie with a certain honorable, dutiful, and merciful lie. This question we shall treat so carefully that we inquire together with those who inquire; but whether we shall find anything at all, the treatment itself will sufficiently show to the reader who attends well, since we affirm nothing rashly. For it is exceedingly hidden, and with certain, as it were, cavernous windings it often eludes the intention of the inquirer, so that now what had been found seems to slip out of the hands, now it reappears and is again swallowed up.

Yet at last a more certain tracking will grasp our conclusion. If there is any error in it, since truth frees from all error and falsehood entangles in all error, I think one is never in error more safely than when he errs through an excessive love of truth and an excessive rejection of falsehood. For those who severely reprove say that this is 'too much'; but truth itself perhaps still says, 'It is not yet enough.' By all means, whoever you are that read, reprove nothing until you have read the whole; and so you will reprove less. Do not look for eloquence; for we have labored much upon the matters, and upon the speed of finishing a work of daily life so necessary: whence our care for words was slight, and almost none.

Setting aside therefore jests, which have never been thought to be lies—for they have from their delivery and from the very disposition of the jester a most evident signification of a mind by no means deceiving, even though not stating what is true; whether such a kind is to be used by perfect souls is another question, which we have not undertaken to unravel just now—setting aside jests, then, we must first deal with this: that one who does not lie should not be thought to lie. Wherefore we must see what a lie is. For not everyone who says what is false lies, if he believes or supposes to be true what he says.

Now between believing and supposing there is this difference: that sometimes he who believes perceives that he is ignorant of what he believes, although about the matter which he knows himself to be ignorant of, he in no way doubts, if he believes it most firmly; but he who supposes thinks he knows what he does not know. Whoever, however, states that which he holds either believed or supposed in his mind, even if it be false, does not lie. For he owes this to the fidelity of his statement, that through it he brings forth what he holds in his mind, and that he has it as he brings it forth. Nor is he for that reason without fault, although he does not lie, if he either believes what ought not to be believed, or thinks he knows what he is ignorant of, even if it be true; for he holds as known what is unknown.

Wherefore he lies who has one thing in his mind and states another by words or by any signs whatsoever. Hence too the heart of one who lies is said to be double—that is, a double thought: one of that thing which he either knows or thinks to be true and does not utter; the other of that thing which he utters in place of it, knowing or thinking it to be false. From which it follows that one can say what is false without lying, if he thinks it to be as he says, although it is not so; and that one can say what is true while lying, if he thinks it to be false and utters it as true, although in reality it is as he utters it. For it is from the intention of his own mind, not from the truth or falsity of the things themselves, that one is to be judged lying or not lying.

He therefore who states what is false as true, but nevertheless thinks it to be true, may be called mistaken and rash; but he is not rightly called lying, because when he states it he has no double heart, nor does he desire to deceive, but is himself deceived. But the fault of one who lies is, in stating what is against his own mind, the desire of deceiving—whether he deceives, when the one who is told what is false believes him; or does not deceive, either when he is not believed, or when he states what is true with the will of deceiving because he does not think it true. When he is believed in this last case, he does not indeed deceive, although he wished to deceive—unless he deceives to this extent, that he is thought also to know or think as he states. Although it may be asked most subtly whether, when the will of deceiving is absent, a lie is altogether absent. For what?

What if someone, speaking what is false—which he judges to be false—does it nevertheless because he thinks he is not believed, so that in that way, by a false trust, he may frighten away the one to whom he speaks, whom he perceives to be unwilling to believe him? For here he lies out of a zeal for not deceiving, if a lie is to state something otherwise than you know or think it to be; but if there is no lie except when someone states something with the will of deceiving, then this man does not lie, who therefore speaks what is false—although he knows or thinks to be false what he speaks—so that the one to whom he speaks, by not believing him, may not be deceived, because he knows or thinks that this man will not believe him.

Whence, if it appears that it can happen that someone speaks what is false so that the one to whom it is said may not be deceived, there arises on the contrary another kind: that of one speaking what is true in order to deceive. For he who speaks what is true because he perceives that he is not believed, speaks the truth precisely in order to deceive; for he knows or judges that what is said can be thought false for this reason, that it is said by himself. Wherefore, when he speaks the truth in order that it may be thought false, he speaks the truth in order to deceive. It must therefore be asked which of the two rather lies: he who speaks what is false lest he deceive, or he who speaks what is true in order to deceive—since both the former knows or thinks he speaks what is false, and the latter knows or thinks he speaks what is true.

For we have already said that he who does not know that what he states is false does not lie, if he thinks it true; and that he rather lies who even states what is true when he thinks it false, because they are to be judged from the intention of their own mind. Concerning those, therefore, whom we have proposed, there is no small question:

the one, who knows or thinks he is speaking falsely and therefore speaks so, lest he deceive—as if someone knew a certain road to be beset by robbers, and fearing lest a man, for whose safety he is concerned and whom he knows not to believe him, should go by it, says that road has no robbers, to this end, that he should not go that way, while for this reason he believes robbers are there, because that man said they were not there, whom, thinking him a liar, he has resolved not to believe; and the other, who, knowing or thinking that what he says is true, nevertheless says it to this end, that he may deceive—as if he should say to a man not believing him that robbers are on that road, where he has in reality learned them to be, so that the one to whom he says it should rather go by that road and so fall among the robbers, while thinking false what that man had said.

Which then of these lies: he who chose to speak what is false lest he deceive, or he who chose to speak what is true in order to deceive? He who by speaking what is false acted so that the truth might follow for the one to whom he spoke, or he who by speaking what is true acted so that falsehood might follow for the one to whom he spoke? Or have perhaps both lied?—the one, because he wished to speak what is false; the other, because he wished to deceive. Or rather has neither of them lied?—the one, because he had the will of not deceiving; and the other, because he had the will of speaking the truth. For it is not now being discussed which of them sinned, but which lied.

For it soon seems that he sinned who by speaking the truth acted so that a man fell among robbers, but that the other did not sin, or even did well, who by speaking what is false acted so that a man avoided destruction. But these examples can be reversed, so that the one may wish something graver to befall him whom he does not wish to be deceived—for many, by coming to know certain true things, have brought destruction upon themselves, if such things were as ought to have remained hidden from them—and the other may wish some advantage to accrue to him whom he wishes to be deceived. For some, who would have brought death upon themselves had they learned some evil thing which had truly happened concerning their dear ones, spared themselves by thinking it false; and thus being deceived profited them, just as to learn true things harmed others.

It is not therefore being discussed with what mind, of counseling or of harming, either the one spoke what was false lest he deceive, or the other spoke what was true in order to deceive; but setting aside the advantages or disadvantages of those to whom they spoke, as far as pertains to truth and falsity themselves, it is asked which of them—or whether both, or neither—has lied. For if a lie is a statement made with the will of stating what is false, then rather he has lied who wished to speak what is false and said what he wished, although he said it lest he deceive; but if a lie is any statement made with the will of deceiving, then not the former but the latter has lied, who wished to deceive even by speaking what is true.

But if a lie is a statement made with the will of some falsity, both have lied—because the one wished his statement to be false, and the other wished that what was true of his be believed false. Further, if a lie is a statement of one wishing to state what is false in order to deceive, neither has lied—because the one had the will of persuading truth by speaking falsely, and the other, in order to persuade falsehood, of speaking truly. There will therefore be absent all rashness and every lie, when we both state what we have come to know as true and to be believed, when there is need, and wish to persuade that which we state.

But if, either thinking to be true what is false, or holding as known what is unknown to us, or believing what ought not to be believed, or—when there is no need—stating it, yet trying to persuade nothing other than that which we state: the error of rashness is indeed not absent, but every lie is absent. For none of those definitions is to be feared, when the mind is well conscious to itself that it states this which it either knows or supposes or believes to be true, and wishes to persuade nothing except what it states. But whether a lie is ever useful is a far greater and more necessary question.

Whether therefore anyone lies who has no will of deceiving, or even acts so that the one to whom he states something may not be deceived, although he wished the statement itself to be false—because he wished it for this reason, that he might persuade what is true; and whether anyone lies who, even willingly stating what is true, does so for the sake of deceiving—can be doubted. But no one doubts that he lies who willingly states what is false for the sake of deceiving. Wherefore it is manifest that a false statement brought forth with the will to deceive is a lie. But whether this alone is a lie is another question. Meanwhile, concerning this kind, on which all agree, let us inquire: whether it is ever useful to state something false with the will of deceiving.

For those who hold this view bring forward testimonies for their opinion, recalling that Sarah, when she had laughed, denied to the angels that she had laughed; that Jacob, being questioned by his father, answered that he himself was Esau, his elder son; that the Egyptian midwives too, lest the Hebrew infants being born should be killed, lied—even with God approving and rewarding them; and choosing many examples of this sort, they recall the lies of those men whom you would not dare to blame, and thus they contend that a lie can sometimes be not only not worthy of reproof, but even worthy of praise. They add also, so as to press not only those devoted to the divine books, but also all men and the common sense, saying:

If someone flees to you who could be delivered from death by your lie, will you not lie? If a sick man asks something which it is not expedient for him to know, who might even, if you do not answer, be more grievously afflicted, will you dare either to speak the truth to the man's ruin, or to keep silent rather than to succor his health by an honorable and merciful lie? By these and such arguments they think they press most copiously the conclusion that, if the cause of counseling demands it, we should sometimes lie. On the contrary, those to whom it is pleasing that one should never lie act far more strongly, using first the divine authority, since in the very Decalogue it is written: 'Thou shalt not bear false witness'—by which kind is comprised every lie;

for whoever states anything bears witness to his own mind. But lest anyone contend that not every lie is to be called false witness, what will he say to that which is written: 'The mouth that lieth slayeth the soul'? And lest anyone suppose that this can be understood with certain liars excepted, let him read in another place: 'Thou wilt destroy all that speak a lie.' Whence the Lord Himself with His own mouth says, 'Let your speech be Yea, yea; Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these is of evil.' Hence too the apostle, when he commanded that the old man be put off—by which name all sins are understood—consequently says, placing it among the first: 'Wherefore, putting away lying, speak ye the truth.'

Nor do they say that they are frightened by those examples of lies brought forward from the old books, where whatever was done can be taken figuratively, although it really happened; but whatever is done or said figuratively is not a lie. For every statement is to be referred to that which it states. But everything done or said figuratively states this, which it signifies to those to whom it was brought forth to be understood. Whence it is to be believed that those men, who are recorded to have been worthy of authority in prophetic times, did and said prophetically all things that are written of them; and no less prophetically did there befall them whatever things so befell that they were judged worthy to be committed to memory and to letters by the same prophetic spirit.

But concerning the midwives, because they cannot say that these women, by a prophetic spirit of signifying, for the sake of a true future, reported one thing for another to Pharaoh—even if what was done through them signified something without their knowing it—they say that they were, according to their degree, approved and rewarded by God. For he who is wont to lie for the sake of harming, if he now lies for the sake of counseling, has made much progress. But it is one thing which is set forth as praiseworthy in itself, another which is preferred in comparison with something worse. For we rejoice in one way when a man is healthy, in another way when a sick man is better. For in the Scriptures themselves even Sodom is said to be justified in comparison with the crimes of the people of Israel.

And to this rule they direct all the lies which are brought forth from the old books and are not found to be reproved, or cannot be reproved, so that they may either be approved by the disposition and hope of those making progress, or, for the sake of some signification, may not be lies at all. And therefore, from the books of the New Testament, setting aside the figurative significations of the Lord, if you consider the life and character of the saints and their deeds and words, nothing of the sort can be brought forth which would provoke to the imitation of lying. For the dissimulation of Peter and Barnabas was not only recorded, but even reproved and corrected.

For it was not, as some suppose, out of that same dissimulation that Paul the apostle either circumcised Timothy or himself celebrated certain rites according to the Jewish manner, but out of that liberty of his own judgment, by which he preached that circumcision neither profited the Gentiles nor harmed the Jews. Whence he judged that neither should the former be bound to the custom of the Jews, nor the latter be deterred from that of their fathers. Whence these words of his are: 'Was any man called being circumcised? let him not draw on the foreskin. Is any called in uncircumcision? let him not be circumcised. Circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing, but the keeping of the commandments of God. Let each one abide in that calling wherein he was called.' For how can the foreskin be drawn on which has been cut off?

But when he said 'let him not draw it on,' he meant 'let him not so live' as though he had drawn on the foreskin—that is, as though he had again drawn a covering of flesh over that part which he had bared, and as though he had ceased to be a Jew, just as he says elsewhere: 'Thy circumcision is made uncircumcision.' And this the apostle said, not as though compelling either those to remain in uncircumcision or the Jews in the custom of their fathers, but that neither should be forced into the other, while each should have the power of remaining in his own custom, not the necessity.

For neither, if a Jew wished—where he would disturb no one—to withdraw from the Jewish observances, would he be prohibited by the apostle; seeing that he gave counsel of remaining in them for this reason, lest the Jews, disturbed by superfluous things, should not come to those things which were necessary for salvation; nor would he be prohibited by him, if any of the Gentiles wished to be circumcised for this purpose, to show that he did not detest it as though harmful, but held it indifferently, as a seal whose usefulness had already passed with time. For if there was now no salvation from it, neither was destruction to be feared from it.

And so Timothy too, although he had been called while still uncircumcised, was nevertheless circumcised by the Apostle. For, since he was born of a Jewish mother, he had to show his kinsmen — so as to win them over — that he had not learned in the Christian discipline to abhor those sacraments which belonged to the old Law. In this way they might demonstrate to the Jews that the Gentiles do not refuse to accept these observances because they are evil or because they were kept by the fathers to their ruin, but because, after the coming of so great a sacrament, they are no longer necessary for salvation — that sacrament which, through so long an age, all that old Scripture was in travail to bring forth by its prophetic figures.

For he would even have circumcised Titus, since the Jews pressed for this, had not certain false brethren who had crept in wished it done precisely so that they might have something to spread abroad concerning Paul himself — as though he had yielded to their notion of truth, they who proclaimed that the hope of gospel salvation lay in the circumcision of the flesh and in observances of that kind, and who contended that without these Christ profited no one — whereas, on the contrary, Christ profited nothing those who were circumcised with the mind that salvation lay therein. Hence comes that saying: 'Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing.' Out of this liberty, therefore, Paul observed his ancestral observances, guarding and proclaiming this one thing: that no one should suppose Christian salvation could not exist without them.

Peter, however, by his dissimulation was compelling the Gentiles to Judaize, as though salvation lay in Judaism. This is shown by Paul's words when he says: 'Why do you compel the Gentiles to Judaize?' For they would not have been compelled, had they not seen him so observing these things as if apart from them there could be no salvation. Peter's dissimulation, therefore, is not to be compared with Paul's liberty.

And therefore we ought gladly to love Peter as one corrected, and not, on the other hand, to build up a lie even out of Paul's authority. For Paul both recalled Peter into the right way in the presence of all, lest the Gentiles should through him be compelled to Judaize, and himself gave testimony to his own preaching. For though he was thought to be an enemy of the ancestral traditions — because he was unwilling to impose them upon the Gentiles — yet by not scorning to observe them himself after the manner of his fathers, he sufficiently showed that this had remained in them at the coming of Christ: namely, that they should be neither ruinous to the Jews, nor necessary to the Gentiles, nor any longer salutary to any human being at all.

But if authority for lying can be drawn neither from the ancient books — either because that is no lie which is received as done or said figuratively, or because what is praised in evil men, once they have begun to make progress, is set forth not for imitation but in comparison with something worse — nor from the books of the New Testament, because it is correction rather than dissimulation that is to be imitated, just as Peter's tears rather than his denial: then, with much greater confidence, they assert that no credence is to be given to those examples which are drawn from common life. For first they teach, by many testimonies of the sacred writings, that a lie is iniquity, and above all by what is written: 'Thou hast hated, O Lord, all who work iniquity; Thou wilt destroy all who speak a lie.'

For either, as Scripture is wont, the following verse has expounded the preceding — so that, since iniquity commonly extends more widely, we may understand that by naming the lie He wished to signify, as it were, a particular species of iniquity — or, if they think there is some difference, then a lie is worse in proportion as the graver word ('destroy') is set against the milder ('hate'). For perhaps God hates someone somewhat more mildly, so as not to destroy him; but whom He destroys, Him He hates the more vehemently the more severely He punishes. Now He hates all who work iniquity; but all who speak a lie He even destroys. This being established, which of those who make these assertions will be moved by such examples, when it is said: 'What then? If a man should flee to you who could be freed from death by your lie?'

For that death which men foolishly fear — men who do not fear to sin — kills not the soul but the body, as the Lord teaches in the Gospel, whence He commands that it not be feared. But the mouth that lies kills not the body but the soul. For in these words it is most plainly written: 'The mouth that lies slays the soul.' How then is it not most perversely said that one man ought to die spiritually so that another may live bodily? For love of one's neighbor also received its limit from each man's love of himself. 'Thou shalt love,' He says, 'thy neighbor as thyself.' How then does anyone love as himself the man for whom, that he may grant him temporal life, he himself loses eternal life?

Since indeed, if for another's temporal life he should lose his own temporal life, that is no longer to love as himself, but more than himself — which exceeds the rule of sound doctrine. Much less, then, will he lose his own eternal life for another's temporal life by lying. His own temporal life, plainly, the Christian will not hesitate to lose for his neighbor's eternal life; for this example went before, that the Lord Himself died for us. For to this end He also said: 'This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'

For no one is so foolish as to say that the Lord provided for anything other than the everlasting salvation of men, whether by doing what He commanded or by commanding what He did. Since therefore eternal life is lost by lying, one must never lie for anyone's temporal life. But indeed these men, who are vexed and indignant if someone is unwilling to destroy his own soul by a lie so that another may grow old in the flesh — what if a man could be freed from death even by our theft, what if by adultery? Are we therefore to steal or to commit adultery?

For they do not perceive that they are driving themselves to this: that if a man should bring a noose and demand defilement, declaring that he will hang himself unless what he asks be granted, then — for the sake of freeing a soul, as they themselves put it — one ought to consent. But if this is absurd and wicked, why should anyone corrupt his own soul with a lie so that another may live in the body, when, if he were to hand over his own body to be corrupted for that reason, he would by the judgment of all be condemned for abominable baseness? Accordingly, in this question nothing is to be considered except whether a lie is iniquity. And since this is asserted by the testimonies mentioned above, we must see that to ask whether one ought to lie for another's salvation is just the same as to ask whether one ought to be iniquitous for another's salvation.

But if the salvation of the soul, which cannot be preserved except by righteousness, rejects this, and bids us prefer itself not only to another's but even to our own temporal salvation — what remains, they say, that ought to make us doubt that one must never lie at all? For it cannot be said that there is anything among temporal goods greater or dearer than bodily salvation and life. Hence, if not even this is to be preferred to truth, what can be objected on account of which those who think one ought sometimes to lie may contend that one must lie?

As for bodily chastity — because it seems to present itself as a much more honorable consideration and to plead on its own behalf for a lie (so that, if a ravisher should attack who could be evaded by a lie, one ought without doubt to lie) — it can easily be answered that there is no chastity of the body unless it depends on the integrity of the mind; and when this is broken, the body must necessarily fall, even though it appear untouched; and therefore it is not to be numbered among temporal things, as though it were something that could be taken away from the unwilling. In no way, then, does the mind corrupt itself with a lie for the sake of its own body, which it knows remains uncorrupted so long as incorruption does not depart from the mind itself. For what the body suffers by violence, with no lust preceding, is to be called an affliction rather than a corruption.

Or if every affliction is corruption, still not every corruption is shameful, but only that which lust has procured or to which lust has consented. And in proportion as the mind is more excellent than the body, so it is corrupted more wickedly. There, then, can chastity be preserved, where there can be no corruption except a voluntary one. For surely if a ravisher assails a body which can be evaded neither by opposing force nor by any counsel or lie, we must needs confess that chastity cannot be violated by another's lust. Wherefore, since no one doubts that the mind is better than the body, the integrity of the mind — which can be preserved for eternity — is to be preferred to the integrity of the body. But who would say that the mind of a liar is intact?

For indeed lust itself is rightly defined as an appetite of the mind by which any temporal things whatever are preferred to eternal goods. No one, therefore, can prove that one ought ever to lie, unless he can show that some eternal good can be obtained by a lie. But since a man departs from eternity in the same measure as he departs from truth, it is most absurd to say that by departing thence anyone can arrive at some good. Or if there be some eternal good which truth does not embrace, it will not be true, and therefore neither will it be good, because it will be false. And as the mind is to be preferred to the body, so is truth to be preferred even to the mind itself, so that the mind may seek after it not only more than the body, but even more than itself.

For in this way it will be the more whole and the more chaste, when it enjoys rather the immutability of truth than its own mutability.

But if Lot, though he was so righteous as to deserve to receive even angels as guests, offered his daughters to the men of Sodom to be defiled, that the bodies of women rather than of men might be corrupted by them — how much more diligently and constantly is the chastity of the mind to be preserved in truth, since a man is more truly preferred to his own body than a man's body to a woman's body! But if anyone thinks that on this account one ought to lie for another, so that meanwhile he may live, or may not be offended in those things which he greatly loves, whereby he might be able through learning to attain to eternal truth — he does not understand, first, that there is no crime which one would not be compelled to undertake on the same condition, as has already been demonstrated above; and next, that the very authority of doctrine is cut off and utterly perishes, if to those whom we strive to lead to it we persuade by our lie that one ought sometimes to lie.

For since saving doctrine consists partly in things to be believed, partly in things to be understood, and one cannot arrive at the things that are to be understood unless first the things that are to be believed are believed — how is one to believe him who thinks that one ought sometimes to lie, lest perchance he be lying even then, when he charges us to believe? For whence can it be known whether even then he has some cause, as he himself supposes, for an officious lie — reckoning that by a false narrative a man may be frightened and restrained from lust, and in this manner supposing that even in spiritual matters he provides for himself by lying? Once this kind of thing is admitted and approved, the whole discipline of faith is utterly overthrown; and when that is overthrown, one does not arrive at understanding, for whose grasping the discipline of faith nourishes little ones.

And thus all doctrine of truth is taken away, giving place to the most licentious falsehood, if a place is opened anywhere for the lie, as it were officious, to enter. For whoever lies either prefers temporal advantages, his own or another's, to truth — than which what can be more perverse? — or, when he wishes by a helping lie to make a man fit for attaining the truth, he blocks off the approach to truth; for, being unwilling when he lies, he becomes, when he tells the truth, one who is not trusted. Wherefore either the good are not to be believed, or those are to be believed whom we believe ought sometimes to lie, or it is not to be believed that the good ever lie. Of these three, the first is ruinous, the second foolish; it remains, therefore, that the good never lie.

Thus, when this question has been considered and treated from both sides, no verdict is nevertheless to be lightly pronounced; but those are still to be diligently heard who say that there is no deed so evil that it ought not to be done in avoidance of a worse; and that to the deeds of men belong not only whatever they do, but also whatever they undergo with consent. Whence, if a cause arose that a Christian should choose to burn incense to idols, so as not to consent to defilement which a persecutor threatened him with unless he did so, they seem rightly to ask why he should not also lie, that he might avoid so great a shame. For that very consent, by which he would rather suffer defilement than burn incense to idols, they say is not a passion but a deed.

And to avoid doing this, he chose to burn incense. How much more readily, then, would he have chosen a lie, if by a lie he could have removed so monstrous an outrage from his holy body! In this proposition there are these points which may with reason be asked: whether such a consent is to be reckoned as a deed; or whether that is to be called consent which has no approval; or whether there is approval when it is said, 'It is expedient to suffer this rather than to do that'; and whether that man acted rightly in burning incense rather than suffering defilement; and whether he ought rather to have lied, if that condition were offered, than to have burned incense. But if such a consent is to be reckoned as a deed, then they too are homicides who chose to be killed rather than to bear false witness — and, what is a graver homicide, against their own selves.

For why, on this reasoning, should it not be said that they killed themselves, since they chose this to be done to themselves rather than to do what they were being compelled to do? Or if it be thought graver to kill another than oneself — what then? If this condition were set before a martyr, that, if he refused to bear false witness concerning Christ and to sacrifice to demons, before his very eyes another — not just any man, but his own father — should be killed, the father even begging his son not to permit this to happen through his perseverance: is it not manifest that, while he remained steadfast in the resolve of a most faithful witness, only those who killed his father would be homicides, and not he too a parricide?

Just as, then, this man would not be a partaker in so great a crime — since he chose that his father should rather be killed by others (and killed as a sacrilegious man too, whose soul would be snatched away to punishments) than that he himself should violate his faith by a false testimony — so such a consent would not make a man a partaker in so great an outrage, if he himself were unwilling to do evil, whatever others might have done for the reason that he himself would not do it. For what do such persecutors say but: 'Do evil, lest we do it'? And if, when we did in truth do it, they would not have done so, not even thus ought we to favor them by our own crime. But now, indeed, when they do act — since they say these things — why should they be base and guilty in our company rather than alone?

For that is not to be called consent, since we do not approve of what they do, always wishing and, so far as in us lies, forbidding that they do it, and not only not committing their deed together with them, but even condemning it with as much detestation as we can. 'How,' you say, 'does he not act together with them, seeing that they would not do this if he did that?' In this way we break down a door together with burglars, because, if we did not shut it, they would not break it; and we kill men together with robbers, if it happens that we know they will do this, because, if we by forestalling them killed them, they would not kill others. Or if someone confesses to us that he will commit parricide, we commit it together with him,

if, when we are able, we do not kill him before he does it, when in no other way can we either restrain or hinder him. For it can be said in just so many words: 'You did it together with him, because he would not have done that if you had done this.' I would wish that neither evil be done; but I could only guard against that being done which was in my own power; the other, being another's, which I could not extinguish by my command, I ought not to have hindered by my own misdeed. He, therefore, does not approve the sinner who does not sin for another's sake; and neither pleases him who would wish that neither be admitted, but that which pertains to himself he does not perpetrate even when he has the power, while that which pertains to another he condemns by his will alone. And so, to those who set forth that condition and say:

'If you do not burn incense, you shall suffer this' — if he had answered, 'I choose neither, I detest both, I consent to none of these things you propose' — amid these words and such as these, which since they would certainly be true, no consent of his, no approval would be held; whatever he might suffer from them would be reckoned to him as the receiving of injuries, to them as the committing of sins. 'Ought he then,' someone says, 'to have suffered defilement rather than burn incense?' If you ask what he ought to have done, he ought to have done neither. For if I say that he ought to have done one of these, I shall approve one of them, though I disapprove of both. But if it is asked which of these he ought rather to have avoided, who could not avoid both but could avoid one or the other, I shall answer:

his own sin rather than another's, and the lighter one, which is his own, rather than the graver, which is another's. For — to grant meanwhile, saving a more diligent inquiry, that defilement is graver than incense-burning — that defilement was nevertheless his own act, the incense-burning another's deed, although he himself would undergo it; but whose the deed is, his also is the sin. For although homicide is graver than theft, it is nevertheless worse to commit theft than to suffer homicide. And so, if it were set before anyone that, unless he were willing to commit theft, he should be killed — that is, that homicide should be committed against him — since he could not avoid both, he would rather avoid that which would be his own sin than that which would be another's.

Nor would that other deed thereby become his own, merely because it was committed against him and because he could have avoided it, had he been willing to admit his own. The whole knot of this question, therefore, comes down to this: that it be asked whether any sin of another's, though committed against you, is imputed to you, if you could avoid it by a lighter sin of your own and do not — or whether all bodily uncleanness is excepted. For no one says that a man is made unclean if he be killed, or cast into prison, or held in chains, or scourged, or afflicted with the other torments and tortures, or proscribed, or stricken with the gravest losses even to utter nakedness, or despoiled of honors, and receive enormous insults through whatever reproaches.

Whatever of these anyone shall have suffered unjustly, no one is so mad as to say that he is thereby made unclean. But if he be drenched with filth, or if something of that sort be poured into his mouth or forced upon him, or if he suffer that which is done to women, the feeling of almost all recoils, and they call him defiled and unclean. So, then, it must be concluded that whatever sins of others — except those which make him unclean against whom they are committed —

let no one avoid by his own sins, neither for himself nor for anyone else, but rather let him endure them and bravely suffer them, since he ought to avoid them by no sins of his own, and not by a lie; whereas those things which are so committed against a man as to make him unclean, we ought to avoid even by our own sins — and by this very fact those are not to be called sins which are done in order that that uncleanness may be avoided. For whatever is so done that, unless it were done, it would justly be blamed, is not a sin. From which it follows that not even that uncleanness is to be called such when there is no means of avoiding it; for even then he who suffers it has something to do rightly, namely to bear patiently whatever he cannot avoid.

But no one acting rightly can be made unclean by any bodily contagion whatsoever. For every unrighteous man is unclean before God. Every righteous man, therefore, is clean — if not before men, yet before God, who judges without error. Accordingly, not even when he suffers those things, given the power of avoiding them, is he made unclean by the contact itself, but by the sin whereby he was unwilling to avoid them when he could. For there would be no sin in whatever was done for the sake of avoiding them. For the sake of avoiding these things, therefore, whoever shall have lied does not sin. Or are certain lies also to be excepted, so that it is better to suffer this than to commit those?

If it be so, then not everything that shall have been done in order that that uncleanness may be avoided is free of sin, since there are certain lies which it is graver to commit than to suffer that. For if someone is sought for defilement who could be concealed by a lie, who dares to say that not even then ought one to lie? But if by such a lie he could lie hidden who would wound another's reputation by the false charge of the very uncleanness for suffering which that man is sought — as if it were said to the seeker, some chaste man being named who is a stranger to shames of this kind:

'Go to that man, and he himself will procure for you what you may more gladly use, for he knows such persons and loves them,' and so this seeker might be turned away from the one he was looking for — I know not whether another's reputation ought to be violated by a lie, that another's body might not be violated by another's lust. And in no way whatever ought one ever to lie for anyone by a lie that wounds another, even if he is wounded more lightly than the other would be wounded were you not so to lie; for neither is another's bread to be taken away against his will, however stronger he be, that the weaker may be fed, nor is an innocent man to be beaten with rods against his will, lest another be killed. Plainly, if they be willing, let it be done, since they are not wronged when they thus will it.

But whether even a willing person's reputation ought to be wounded by the false charge of defilement, that defilement might be turned away from another's body, is a great question. And I know not whether it can easily be found how it can be just that a willing person's reputation be stained by the false charge of defilement, rather than an unwilling person's body by the defilement itself. But nevertheless, if such a choice were set before him who preferred to burn incense to idols rather than to suffer what is done to women — that, if he wished to avoid the latter, he should violate the reputation of Christ by some lie — he would be utterly insane if he did it.

I say even more: that he would be mad if, for the sake of avoiding another's lust — that there might not be done in him what he would suffer by no lust of his own — he should falsify the gospel of Christ by false praises of Christ, taking greater care to avoid another's corruption in his own body than his own corruption in the doctrine of the sanctification of souls and bodies. Wherefore, from the doctrine of religion, and from all those statements whatsoever which are set forth for the sake of the doctrine of religion, when it is taught and learned, all lies whatsoever are utterly to be removed; nor let it be believed that any cause at all can be found for which one ought to lie in such matters, since one ought not to lie in that doctrine even for this end, that a man might more easily be brought to it.

For once the authority of truth is broken, or even slightly diminished, all things will remain doubtful; and unless these be believed to be true, they cannot be held as certain. It is permitted, therefore, whether to the discourser and disputant and preacher of eternal things, or to the narrator and announcer of temporal matters pertaining to the building up of religion and piety, to conceal for a time whatever seems fit to be concealed; but to lie is never permitted, and therefore neither to conceal by lying. This being first and most firmly established, one inquires more securely concerning the other lies. But consequently it must also be seen that all lies too are to be removed which unjustly injure anyone, since no injury, even a lighter one, is to be inflicted on anyone, that a graver may be warded off from another.

Nor are those lies to be admitted which, although they do not harm another, nevertheless profit no one and harm those very persons who lie without cause. For these are properly to be called liars. For there is a difference between one who is lying and a liar. For even he who lies unwillingly is one who is lying; but a liar loves to lie and dwells in mind in the delight of lying. Alongside these are to be placed also those who by a lie wish to please men — not that they may do injury to anyone or offer insult (for we have already removed that kind above) — but that they may be agreeable in their conversations.

These differ from that kind in which we placed the liars in this respect: that those take delight in lying, rejoicing in the deception itself, whereas it pleases these to please by their agreeable speech — men who nevertheless would rather please by things true, but who, when they do not easily find true things that are pleasing to hearers, choose to lie rather than to be silent. It is difficult, however, for these ever to undertake a wholly false narrative; but for the most part they weave false things in with true, wherever agreeableness deserts them. These two kinds of lies, however, do no harm to those who believe them, because they are deceived neither concerning the doctrine of religion and truth, nor concerning any of their own advantage or utility.

For it suffices them to judge that what is said could have happened, and to have faith in a man whom they ought not rashly to reckon a liar. For what harm is it if I believe that someone's father or grandfather was a good man, even if he was not, or that he reached as far as the Persians in his military service, even if he never departed from Rome? But to the liars themselves these lies do great harm: to the former indeed, because they so forsake truth that they rejoice in deceit; to the latter, because they prefer to please rather than to speak truth. These kinds being condemned without any doubt, there follows a kind of lie — as though we were rising step by step toward better things — which is commonly attributed to the benevolent and good, when he who lies not only does not harm another, but even profits someone.

Concerning this kind is the whole dispute: whether he harms himself who thus profits another by doing something against truth. Or, if that alone is to be called truth which illumines minds themselves with an inmost and unchangeable light, he certainly does something against some truth; for even if the senses of the body are deceived, nevertheless he does something against truth who says that something is thus or not thus which neither his mind nor his sense nor his own opinion or belief reports to him. Whether, then, he does not harm himself who in this manner profits another, or whether by that compensation whereby he profits another he does not harm himself, is a great question. If it be so, then consequently he ought also to profit himself by a lie which harms no one.

But these things are interconnected, and once they are granted, there are necessarily drawn along consequences which greatly disturb. For if it be asked what harm it is to a man overflowing with superfluous wealth if, out of countless thousands of measures of grain, he lose one measure — a measure which nevertheless could serve the necessary sustenance of one who steals it — it will follow that both theft can be committed without reproach and false witness spoken without sin. And what can be said more perverse than this? Or indeed, if another had stolen that measure and you saw it and were questioned, would you lie honorably for the poor man, and, if you did it on account of your own poverty, would you be blamed? As though you ought to love another more than yourself. Both, therefore, are base and to be avoided.

But perhaps someone may think an exception ought to be added, namely that there are certain honourable lies which not only harm no one but even benefit some people — excepting those lies by which crimes are concealed and defended; so that a lie would be base for this reason, that although it harms no one and benefits a poor man, it nonetheless conceals a theft; but if it were so framed that it harmed no one and benefited someone, yet without concealing or defending any sin, then it would not be base. As, for instance, if a man were to hide away his own money before your eyes so as not to lose it by theft or violence, and being questioned about it you were to lie, you would neither harm anyone and you would benefit him who needed that thing to remain hidden, and by lying you would have covered no sin.

For no one sins by hiding away his own property which he fears to lose. But if for this reason we do not sin by lying — because, covering no one's sin, we harm no one and benefit someone — what shall we make of the sin of lying itself? For where it is written, 'You shall not steal,' there also it is written, 'You shall not bear false witness.' Since therefore each is separately forbidden, why is false witness culpable only when it covers a theft or some other sin; whereas if it is committed by itself with no defence of sin, it is not culpable — when theft itself is culpable in itself, and so are the other sins? Or is it that to conceal a sin by lying is not permitted, but to commit it is permitted? But if this is absurd, what shall we say?

Or is it not false witness unless a man so lies as either to fabricate a charge against someone, or to conceal someone's crime, or in some way to press upon a person in a trial? For a witness seems necessary to the judge for the knowledge of a case. But if Scripture named the witness only in this restricted sense, the Apostle would not have said: 'We are even found false witnesses of God, if we have testified against God that he raised up Christ, whom he did not raise up.' For thus he shows that false witness is a lie, even if it be spoken in someone's false praise. Or does he perhaps then call a man a false witness when he lies, only when he either invents or conceals someone's sin, or in some way harms someone?

For if a lie which is spoken against someone's temporal life is detestable, how much more one spoken against eternal life! Such is every lie, if it be made in the teaching of religion. And therefore the Apostle calls it false witness if anyone lies about Christ, even in what seems to pertain to his praise. But if it be a lie that neither invents nor conceals anyone's sin, is not sought out by a judge, harms no one and benefits someone — is it then neither false witness nor a reprehensible lie? What then? If a murderer takes refuge with a Christian, or sees where he takes refuge, and he is questioned about this by one who seeks the man who has killed a man in order to punish him — must one lie?

For how does he not cover a sin by lying, when the man for whom he lies has committed a wicked sin? Or is it because he is not questioned about that man's sin, but about the place where he is hiding? Then is it evil to lie in order to cover anyone's sin, but not evil to lie in order to cover the sinner himself? 'Just so, indeed,' someone says; 'for a man does not sin when he escapes punishment, but when he does something deserving of punishment. And it belongs to Christian discipline that neither should anyone's correction be despaired of, nor should the way of repentance be closed to any.' What then? If, brought before a judge, you are questioned about the very place where that man is hiding, will you say either, 'He is not there,' where you know him to be, or:

'I do not know and have not seen,' what you do know and have seen? Then you will be bearing false witness and slaying your own soul, so that the murderer may not be slain. Or will you lie up to the point of coming before the judge, but then, when the judge questions you, will you now speak the truth, so as not to be a false witness? Then you yourself will be about to slay the man by betrayal — for divine Scripture also detests a betrayer. Or is he perhaps no betrayer who, when the judge questions him, reveals the truth, while he would be a betrayer if of his own accord he delivered someone up to destruction? What then? If you are questioned by a judge about the hiding-place of a just and innocent man whom you know, yet who has nonetheless been ordered to be seized for death by a higher authority, so that he who questions is an executor of the law and not its maker —

Or will it for this reason not be false witness that you lie on behalf of an innocent man — because it is not the judge but only an executor who questions? What then? If the very maker of the law questions you, or any unjust judge seeking the innocent man for punishment? What will you do? Will you be a false witness, or a betrayer? Or will he be a betrayer who of his own accord delivers up to a just judge a hidden murderer, while he not be one who, to an unjust judge questioning him about where the innocent man is hiding — the man whom he seeks to kill — points out the one who had entrusted himself to his good faith? Or will you remain doubtful and uncertain between the crime of false witness and that of betrayal? Or by keeping silent, or by declaring that you will not speak, will you with certainty avoid both?

Why then should you not do this, before you come before the judge, so that you may guard even against a lie? For by avoiding a lie you will escape every false witness — whether every lie be false witness or not; but by avoiding only false witness, which you understand it to be, you will not escape every lie. How much more bravely, then, how much more excellently will you say: 'I will neither betray nor lie!' A certain bishop of the church of Thagaste once did this, Firmus by name, and firmer still in will.

For when a man was demanded of him by the emperor's command, through officers sent to him — a man who had fled to him for refuge and whom he hid with all the care he could — he answered his seekers that he could neither lie nor betray the man; and having endured many tortures of the body — for the emperors were not yet Christian — he remained in his resolve. Then, being led before the emperor, he appeared so admirable that he obtained, without any difficulty, a pardon for the very man whom he was protecting. What could be done more brave and more constant than this? But some more timid person says: 'I can be ready to bear any tortures whatever, or even to undergo death, so as not to sin;

but since it is not a sin so to lie that you neither harm anyone nor bear false witness, and yet benefit someone, it is foolish and a grave sin to endure voluntary tortures in vain, and perhaps to cast away a useful safety and life for nothing to men who rage against you.' Of such a one I ask: why does he fear what is written, 'You shall not bear false witness,' and yet not fear what is said of God, 'You will destroy all who speak a lie'? 'It is not written,' he says, 'every lie; but I understand it as if it were written: You will destroy all who speak false witness.' But neither there is it said, 'every false witness.' 'But it is placed there,' he says, 'where the other things are that are in every way evil.' Is not that also there which reads: 'You shall not kill'?

But if that is in every way evil, how shall the righteous be excused from this crime who, after the law was given, killed many? But it is answered that he does not himself kill who is the minister of some just command. Their fear, then, I accept in such a way that I nevertheless judge that praiseworthy man — who was willing neither to lie nor to betray a man — both to have understood better what is written, and to have bravely fulfilled what he understood. But one comes at times to a situation of this kind: that we are not asked where the man being sought is, nor compelled to betray him, if he is so hidden that he cannot easily be found unless betrayed, but it is asked of us whether he is in that place or not.

In which case, if we know that he is there, by keeping silent we betray him — or even by saying that we will by no means tell whether he is there or not; for from this the questioner infers that he is there; whereas if he were not there, nothing else would be answered by one who was unwilling to lie or to betray the man, except that he is not there. Thus by our silence or by such words the man is betrayed, so that the questioner enters, if he has the power, and finds him — the man who could nonetheless have been turned away from finding him by our lie. Wherefore, if you do not know where he is, there is no cause for concealing the truth, but you must confess that you do not know. But if you do know where he is, whether he is there where he is sought or elsewhere, when it is asked whether he is there or not, it must not be said:

'I will not say what you ask.' Rather it must be said: 'I know where he is, but I will never point him out.' For if you refuse to answer about one place and declare that you will not betray him, it is as if you pointed out that same place with your finger; for a definite suspicion is aroused. But if you first confess that you know where he is, but will not tell, then the inquirer can perhaps be turned away from that place and set to pressing upon you, that where he is may be betrayed by you. And for such faithfulness and humanity, whatever you bravely endure is judged not only not culpable but even praiseworthy — excepting only those things which, if a man suffered them, he would be said to suffer not bravely, but shamefully and basely. For this is the last kind of lie, which must be treated more diligently.

For the first kind, to be avoided and fled far from, is the capital lie which is made in the teaching of religion: to which lie no one ought under any condition to be induced. The second is one that unjustly injures another: such as to benefit no one and to harm someone. The third is one that so benefits one person as to harm another, though it does not harm to bodily uncleanness. The fourth is one committed solely from the lust of lying and deceiving, which is a pure lie. The fifth is one committed from the desire of pleasing by smooth speech. When all these have been utterly avoided and rejected, there follows a sixth kind, which harms no one and benefits someone:

as if, for instance, a man knowing where someone's money is — which is about to be unjustly taken — should lie that he does not know, to whoever questions him. The seventh is one that harms no one and benefits someone, with this exception, that a judge is doing the questioning: as if, being unwilling to betray a man sought for death, one should lie — not only for a just and innocent man, but even for a guilty one, because it belongs to Christian discipline that neither should anyone's correction be despaired of, nor the way of repentance be closed to any.

Concerning these two kinds, which are wont to occasion great controversy, we have treated sufficiently and have shown what pleases us: that, along with the discomforts to be undertaken which are honourably and bravely borne, these kinds too should be shunned by brave, faithful, and truthful men and women. The eighth is the kind of lie which harms no one and benefits to this extent, that it protects someone from bodily uncleanness — at least that uncleanness which we mentioned above. For the Jews thought even to eat with unwashed hands an uncleanness. Or if anyone calls even this an uncleanness, it is nevertheless not such a one for the avoiding of which one ought to lie.

But if the lie be such as to do an injury to someone, even though it should shield a man from that uncleanness which all men shrink from and detest, whether one ought even in this kind to lie — if such an injury be done through the lie as does not belong to that kind of uncleanness of which we are now treating — is another question. For then it is no longer a question about lying, but the question is whether an injury ought to be done to someone even without a lie, in order that that uncleanness may be driven away from another: which I should by no means think.

And although the lightest injuries be proposed — such as that which I mentioned above, about the loss of a single peck of grain — they greatly perplex us: whether we ought not to do even such an injury to anyone, if by it another can, that he suffer not violation, be defended or shielded. But, as I said, that is another question. Now let us carry through what we set out to do: whether one ought to lie, if even an unavoidable condition be proposed, so that we either do this or suffer violation or some execrable defilement, even if by lying we do injury to no one. On this matter some room for consideration will be open, if first we diligently examine the divine authorities that forbid lying. For if these leave no room, we seek in vain for a way out;