Beautiful without doubt is the world, excelling, as well in its magnitude as in the arrangement of its parts, both those in the oblique circle and those about the north, and also in its spherical form. Yet it is not this, but its Artificer, that we must worship. For when any of your subjects come to you, they do not neglect to pay their homage to you, their rulers and lords, from whom they will obtain whatever they need, and address themselves to the magnificence of your palace; but, if they chance to come upon the royal residence, they bestow a passing glance of admiration on its beautiful structure: but it is to you yourselves that they show honour, as being “all in all.” You sovereigns, indeed, rear and adorn your palaces for yourselves; but the world was not created because God needed it; for God is Himself everything to Himself,—light unapproachable, a perfect world, spirit, power, reason. If, therefore, the world is an instrument in tune, and moving in well-measured time, I adore the Being who gave its harmony, and strikes its notes, and sings the accordant strain, and not the instrument. For at the musical contests the adjudicators do not pass by the lute-players and crown the lutes. Whether, then, as Plato says, the world be a product of divine art, I admire its beauty, and adore the Artificer; or whether it be His essence and body, as the Peripatetics affirm, we do not neglect to adore God, who is the cause of the motion of the body, and descend “to the poor and weak elements,” adoring in the impassible air (as they term it), passible matter; or, if any one apprehends the several parts of the world to be powers of God, we do not approach and do homage to the powers, but their Maker and Lord. I do not ask of matter what it has not to give, nor passing God by do I pay homage to the elements, which can do nothing more than what they were bidden; for, although they are beautiful to look upon, by reason of the art of their Framer, yet they still have the nature of matter. And to this view Plato also bears testimony; “for,” says he, “that which is called heaven and earth has received many blessings from the Father, but yet partakes of body; hence it cannot possibly be free from change.” If, therefore, while I admire the heavens and the elements in respect of their art, I do not worship them as gods, knowing that the law of dissolution is upon them, how can I call those objects gods of which I know the makers to be men? Attend, I beg, to a few words on this subject.
— Athenagoras of Athens
A Plea for the Christians, 16.
Athenagoras argues from the lesser to the greater that God alone is the supreme object of worship. Just as the grandeur of earthly rulers, such as the Caesars, is reflected in the excellence of their subjects and palaces—yet the rulers themselves, not their dwellings, receive honor—so too the beauty and harmony of the world, like a finely tuned musical instrument, should lead us to worship not the creation but its divine Maker. The world’s order and splendor testify to the wisdom and power of its Artificer, who alone is worthy of adoration. For the Christian, the Word became flesh, all things were made through the Word, nothing made came into existence apart from the Word, and the Christ holds all things together (Jn. 1:1-4, 15; Col. 1:16; Heb. 1:2). When we consider the beauty of nature that surrounds us, how it is fine-tune for life and scientific discovery, how apropos is it to sing “How Great Thou Art.”
Athenagoras of Athens (fl. AD 176–180) was a second-century Greek philosopher who converted to Christianity, persuaded by the wisdom of Christ’s teachings and the exemplary virtue of early believers. His apologetic work A Plea for the Christians was addressed to the emperors Marcus Aurelius Antoninus and Lucius Aurelius Commodus, and written to refute the slanderous accusations that Christians were atheists, incestuous, and cannibals. Another work authentically attributed to Athenagoras is On the Resurrection of the Dead, a reasoned defense of the Christian doctrine of bodily resurrection.
