Nature soaks every evil with either fear or shame.

Hear the words of Tertullian, the fiery voice of early Christendom, who declared: “Nature soaks every evil with either fear or shame.” In this saying, he unveils a profound truth about the human soul—that wickedness, no matter how boldly it may strut, is never free from consequence. For within the fabric of nature itself, within the conscience of man and the order of the world, there lies a judgment that weighs upon the wrongdoer, staining every deed of evil with trembling fear or burning shame.

For Tertullian saw that evil cannot live naked and untroubled. The thief may steal in darkness, yet his heart quivers at every creak, haunted by the thought of discovery. The liar may cloak himself in clever words, yet inwardly he burns with the fear of being unmasked. And if fear does not strike, then shame rises—the hidden torment of the soul, which even if unseen by men, gnaws within like fire in the marrow. Thus, by the design of nature, wrongdoing bears its own punishment, even before the law or sword arrives.

History gives us clear mirrors of this truth. Consider Macbeth, who, after seizing his crown with blood, found no rest upon his throne. His nights were broken by visions, his meals soured with suspicion. He wore the crown outwardly, but inwardly he was enslaved to fear. Or think of Judas, who betrayed his master for silver. No guard chased him, no crowd accused him, but shame consumed his soul until he could bear no life at all. In both tales, Tertullian’s wisdom shines: every evil deed is soaked, drowned, steeped either in fear or shame.

This law is not merely punishment, but a safeguard of the world. For if nature had allowed men to sin without inward consequence, wickedness would multiply without limit. But because the wrongdoer cannot escape the haunting shadow of conscience, some are restrained from worse evils, while others, broken by their own guilt, turn back to the path of virtue. Thus the hidden hand of nature works as judge, guiding even the unwilling soul toward repentance.

Yet let us not think this law only applies to the great crimes of history. Even in the smallest evils, the truth remains. The harsh word spoken in anger leaves behind a sting of shame. The idle act of cowardice plants the seed of fear, lest the moment return to haunt us. Every false step leaves its print upon the soul, as if nature herself writes her verdict within us, in letters invisible yet inescapable.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not seek to escape the burden of conscience, for it cannot be silenced. Better to walk in uprightness than to carry the chains of fear and the fire of shame. If you err, confess, repent, and mend your ways quickly, for only in truth can the soul find rest. For what men call “getting away with evil” is but an illusion—nature herself will not permit it.

Therefore, O children of the future, remember Tertullian’s wisdom: every evil deed, whether great or small, is already steeped in its own poison. To choose wickedness is to choose torment. To walk in goodness is to walk in freedom. Fear belongs to the guilty; shame belongs to the corrupt. But peace, joy, and strength belong to the just. Choose the path where fear cannot haunt you, nor shame consume you, and you shall live as one aligned with nature, free and whole.