Address of Thanksgiving to Origen 1–5

A fine thing is silence, for many others on many occasions, and especially now for me, who, willingly and unwillingly, am muzzled and compelled to keep silent. For I am unpractised and inexperienced in those fine and seemly speeches that are spoken or composed in choice and approved nouns and verbs, in an unhindered sequence; and perhaps I am also less fitted by nature to labour at this graceful and truly Greek work. Moreover, it is now eight years since I myself have happened to speak or write any speech at all, great or small; nor have I heard anyone else writing or speaking in private, or delivering panegyrics or competitive speeches in public, except these wonderful men who have embraced the fair philosophy. They too care less for eloquence and elegance of words; placing words second, they wish to investigate accurately and to announce the things themselves, as each is; not, I think, from not wishing, but rather from greatly wishing, to express the fine and accurate fruits of their thinking in fine and comely speech; but perhaps being unable so readily to bring forth in their own thoughts the sacred and godlike power and at the same time speech that is eloquent in its words, and to comprehend in one and the same soul, and that a small and human one, two excellences, each peculiar to different men and somehow most opposed to each other: since silence is a friend and helper to thought and invention, while fluency and sonority in speech you would find nowhere else than in words and their continual practice. Moreover, another study grips my mind fiercely and the mouth binds the tongue, if I should wish to say even a little in the language of the Greeks: our wonderful laws of the wise, by which the affairs of all men under the rule of the Romans are now directed, which are neither composed nor learned without toil; being themselves wise and exact and varied and wonderful, and, in a word, most Greek, but expressed and handed down in the language of the Romans, which is impressive and lofty and shaped to the imperial authority, but burdensome to me. Nor was it possible otherwise, even if I should say it was my wish. And since our words are nothing else than images of the affections of our soul, we would grant that those able to speak, like good painters, most skilled in their art and rich also in the material of colours, may paint pictures not only of a likeness but also varied and very beautiful in their mixture of flowers, being in nothing hindered.

But we, like poor men, lacking these varied pigments, and either never having acquired them or perhaps having lost them, imitate, as with charcoal or potsherds only, with these usual and common nouns and verbs, according to our ability, the originals of the affections of our soul, sketching them with the words we have at hand, trying to show the outlines of the impressions of the soul, if not vividly or ornately, at least as in a charcoal drawing; and if anything comely and eloquent comes our way from anywhere, we welcome it gladly, though we disregard it otherwise. But thirdly, in yet another way, the subject itself hinders and deters me, and holds me back much more than the others and simply commands me to keep quiet: the very subject for whose sake I eagerly wished to speak, yet I delay and hesitate. For I intend to say something about a man who appears and seems to be a man, but who, to those able to see, has already put off most of his condition in greater preparation for the departure to the divine. I am not coming to praise his birth or bodily upbringing, so that I should delay and put it off out of excessive caution; nor his strength or beauty, these praises of youths, about which there is less concern whether they are spoken fittingly or not. For to make a speech with solemn dignity and delays about things that are not lasting or stable but perish in various ways and quickly, would perhaps be cold and pretentious. If I had intended to speak of any of these things, useless and vain as they are and such as I would never willingly have proposed to speak of, my speech would have had no caution and no anxiety lest in speaking I should appear beneath their worth. But now I intend to speak of what is most godlike in him, that in him which is akin to God, shut up in this visible and mortal form but striving most laboriously to be made like God; and intending in some way to touch on greater matters, and through this also on thanksgiving to the Divine, because it has been granted me to meet such a man beyond all human expectation, others' and my own, who had never purposed or hoped for it: being about to touch on such things, small and wholly foolish as I am, I not unreasonably shrink back and hesitate and would willingly keep silent. And indeed it seems safe to me to keep quiet, lest, under pretext of thanksgiving, but perhaps from rashness, going through things mean and cheap and trite about things solemn and holy, I should not only fail to reach the truth but even, as far as in me lies, detract something among those who believe it so, since my speech, being weak, will outline it insultingly rather than in a way that matches the deeds in power. And yet what is yours, dear friend, cannot be pulled down or insulted, and much more do the divine things remain unshaken as they are in themselves, in nothing harmed by our small and unworthy words; but we, I do not know how we shall escape the reputation of boldness and rashness, having leaped in our folly, with small mind and preparation, upon matters great and perhaps beyond us. And if we had eagerly undertaken such youthful daring somewhere else and in the case of others, we would even so be bold and daring; yet shamelessness would not be the cause of our rashness, since we would not be making this bold attempt in your presence. But now we shall fill up the whole measure of folly, or have already filled it, having dared to tread with unwashed feet (as the saying goes) upon ears into which the divine Word himself enters and dwells, not as into those of most men, with feet shod, as it were, in the thick hides of enigmatic and obscure words, but bare (as one might say), clear and plain; while we, bringing our human words like dirt or mud, have dared to pour them into ears trained to hear divine and pure voices. Is it enough, then, to have sinned this far, and should we now at least begin to be sensible, going no further with the speech but stopping here? I would wish it. Yet, having once been bold, let me be allowed first to state the cause by which I was induced to come to this contest, in case I may obtain pardon for this rashness.

Ingratitude seems to me a terrible thing, terrible and utterly terrible. For one who has been well treated not to try to repay, if not otherwise possible, at least by thanks in words, is the mark of one wholly senseless and without feeling for benefits, or forgetful. And one who had perception and knowledge of the benefits he received at first, if he does not also preserve the memory into later time, and does not render some thanks to the one who began the good things, is idle and ungrateful and impious, committing an unpardonable sin whether he be great or small: if he is great and great-minded, by not having his great benefits on his lips with all thanks and honour; if small and despised, by not celebrating and praising with all his power the benefactor not only of great but even of small things. For the greater, those who excel in power of soul, must, as from greater abundance and great wealth, render greater and more lavish praises to their benefactors according to their ability; and the small, those in narrow circumstances, ought not to neglect it either, nor be slack, nor lie down as though unable to bring anything worthy or perfect; but as poor men, yet well-disposed, measuring not the power of the one honoured but their own, they should bring honours from their present ability, which will perhaps be gracious and pleasing to the one honoured, and not in second place with him to great and many (gifts), if they offer them with greater eagerness and a whole mind. So it is recorded in the sacred books that a small and poor woman, along with rich and powerful people who offered great and costly gifts from their wealth, alone contributed small and very little things, but all she had, and carried off the testimony of the greater giving. For I think the sacred word weighed munificence and magnificence not by the quantity of the material given, which is external, but rather by the intentions and choices of those who offered. Neither, then, should we hold back altogether through fear that our thanksgiving will not equal the benefits, but quite the contrary, dare and try to offer in return, if not equal honours, at least those we can; so that, if our speech misses the perfect, it may at least attain part, escaping the reputation of total ingratitude. For total silence under the plausible cover of being unable to say anything worthy is truly useless; but the attempt at repayment is always well-intentioned, even if the ability of the one rendering thanks is beneath the worth. For I will not keep silent because I cannot speak worthily; but I will be satisfied if I fulfil all I can. Let this speech, then, be my thanksgiving. To God, the God of all things, I would not wish to call it that, although all the beginnings of good things come to us from there, and from there too we must begin our thanksgivings, hymns, and praises. But not even if I should give myself wholly, not as I now am, profane and impure, mixed and confused with all-defiling and impure evil, but bare, as pure as possible, most bright and unalloyed, and untouched by anything worse; not even if I gave myself wholly, I say, bare, as if newborn, would I bring from myself any gift worthy as honour and recompense to the Leader and Cause of all things; whom neither each by himself nor all together, as if all things became one and the same and pure, standing outside themselves and turning rather to him, united in one spirit and one harmonious impulse, could ever worthily praise. For even if one could think best and wholly about his works and (if it were possible) speak worthily of him, yet, because of the very power of which he was thought worthy, having received it not from another but from him, there is no way he could find anything greater from anywhere to offer in thanksgiving.

But let us entrust the praises and hymns to the King and Guardian of all things, the unfailing spring of all good things, to the one who heals our weakness in this too and alone can fill up what is lacking: to the Protector and Saviour of our souls, his first-born Word, the Maker and Pilot of all things. For to him alone it is possible, both for himself and for all, individually for each and all together at once, to send up continual and unceasing thanksgivings to the Father; because, being himself the Truth, and the Wisdom and Power of the Father of all things, and moreover being in him and truly united to him, it cannot be that through forgetfulness or lack of wisdom or some weakness, as one estranged from him, he either will not reach (the task) by his power, or, reaching it, will willingly (which it is unlawful to say) leave the Father unpraised. For to him alone is it possible to fill up most perfectly the whole worth of the praises due to him: him whom the Father of all made one with himself, and through whom, as if himself encircling himself, he in some way honours and is honoured with a power in every way equal to his own; this his Only-begotten, God the Word who is in him, first and alone obtained to have of all beings. All others can be thankful and pious only in this way: if, bringing it to him alone in return for all the good things (given) us from the Father, we offer the power of worthy thanksgiving, confessing that this is the one way of piety, to bring all remembrance through him to the Cause of all things. Let it be confessed, then, that for the providence that suffices for all, caring for us in the greatest and the least things and leading us even to this point, he is the worthy and sufficient word for thanksgivings and hymns, being most perfect and living, the ensouled Word of the first Mind himself. But let this speech of ours be a thanksgiving, of all men, above all to this holy man; and if I should wish to speak further also of those who are not seen but are more divine and care for men, (a thanksgiving) to the one who from childhood, by some great decision, was allotted to manage, nurse, and guard me, the holy angel of God, "who feeds me from my youth," as that man dear to God says, speaking evidently of his own angel. But he, being great, (was allotted) proportionally a very great one (whether some other, whoever he was, or perhaps even the Angel of great counsel himself, the common Saviour of all, whom by his perfection he had already obtained as his own guardian, I do not clearly know); yet he knew and thanked his own angel, whoever he was. But we, besides the common Pilot of all men, (thank) this one too, whoever he is, who was our own tutor when we were infants. He, being in all other respects a good nurse and guardian of mine (not in my judgment or that of any of my friends, for we are blind and see nothing ahead so as to be able to judge anything needful, but in the judgment of him who foresees all things for the benefit of our soul, it seems better so), both long ago and still now rears and educates and leads me by the hand; and besides all the rest he arranged to join me to this man, the most important thing of all; a man neither related to me by birth and human blood, nor otherwise a neighbour or one of those dwelling near, nor even of the same nation at all (these are the occasions of friendship and union for most men); but, in a word, bringing together by truly divine and wise providence us who were unknown to each other, strangers and foreigners, standing very far apart, as far as the intervening nations and mountains and rivers separate us, he contrived this saving meeting for me; foreseeing it from above, I think, from my first birth and upbringing. How, it would be long to recount, not only if I were to be exact and try to omit nothing, but even if, passing over most, I should wish to mention briefly a few of the chief points.

My first upbringing from birth was under my parents, and in the erring customs of my fathers; from which neither anyone else, I think, expected that we would be freed, nor had I myself any hope, being a little child and without reason, under a superstitious father. Then came the loss of my father and orphanhood, which was perhaps for me the beginning of the knowledge of the truth. For then first I was brought over to the saving and true Word, I do not know how, compelled rather than willing. For what judgment had I, being fourteen years old? But from then on, somehow, this holy Word began at once to dwell with me, just as the common reason of all men was reaching its completion in me; yet it came to dwell then for the first time. And this, reckoning it now if not before, I take as no small sign of the holy and wonderful Providence over me: this concurrence so numbered by the years, so that all that came before this age, being works of error, might be given over to infancy and unreason, and so that the holy Word might not be given in vain to a soul not yet rational; but that, when it had become rational, it might not be without, if not the divine and pure Word, at least the fear that accords with this word; but that the human reason and the divine Word might begin together in me, the one helping with a power inexpressible to me but its own, the other being helped. Reckoning this fills me with gladness and fear together: exalted by the advancement, but afraid lest, having been thought worthy of such things, I should nonetheless fail of the end. But somehow my speech has lingered on this part, wishing to recount in order the wonderful arrangement that brought me to this man, though hastening first, and briefly, to what follows; not as rendering the praise owed to the one who so arranged it, or thanksgiving and piety (not that we name it so burdensomely, while saying nothing worthy), but making it as a narrative and confession, or with some more modest name than these. It seemed good to my mother, the one of my parents left to care for us, that, being educated in other respects as children not ignobly born and bred, we should also attend a rhetorician, as if to become rhetoricians. And we did attend, and those who then judged such things said that we would soon be rhetoricians; I neither know this nor would I wish to say it; but there was no thought of these things, nor yet any laying down of the causes that could bring us here. But the divine Tutor and true Guardian, ever wakeful, when neither my family thought of it nor I myself desired it, came upon me, and, meeting one of my teachers (who had been entrusted besides with teaching me the language of the Romans, not that I should reach the summit, but that I should not be wholly unacquainted with this language too; and he happened to be not unversed in the laws), put this into his mind, and through him urged me to learn the laws of the Romans thoroughly. And that man did so persistently, and I complied, gratifying the man rather than being a lover of the art. Having taken me as a pupil, he began teaching me with zeal; and he said something which has turned out the truest of all things for me: that the learning of the laws would be my greatest provision for the journey (for that is the word he used), whether I wished to be one of the orators who contend in the law courts or something else. So he spoke, directing his words to human affairs; but to me he seems to have prophesied, under some more divine inspiration, beyond his own conception. For when I was being educated, willingly and unwillingly, in these laws, bonds were already somehow laid down, and the city of the Berytians became the cause and occasion of the journey here, a city not far from here, somewhat more Roman, and believed to be a school of these laws. And other affairs moved this sacred man too from Egypt, from the city of the Alexandrians, where he formerly happened to have his home, and transferred him to this place, as if to meet us. I neither know how to give the reasons for these things and will willingly pass them by; but not yet … since it would have been possible, as far as our laws went, to travel even to the city of the Romans. How, then, was this also provided? The then governor of the Palestinians suddenly took my brother-in-law, my sister's husband, against his will, separating him, alone, from his wife, and brought him here to help and share in the labours of the governor of the province; for he was a lawyer, and perhaps still is. Having come with him, he intended before long to send for his wife and receive her, from whom he had been separated grievously and unwillingly, and to draw us along with her. Suddenly, then, I do not know how, while we were intending to travel, but rather somewhere else than here, a soldier came upon us bearing a command to escort and protect our sister on her way to join her husband, and to take us too as fellow travellers with her; thus doing a favour to our brother-in-law, and most of all to our sister (so that she might not travel in an unseemly way or be more hesitant about the journey), and … our kinsfolk …; and we would accomplish no small thing besides if we went to the city of the Berytians and completed the study of the laws there. Everything, then, moved us: the reasonable claim of our sister, our own study; and besides, the soldier (for this too must be mentioned), who bore authority for the use of more public conveyances, and passes for a larger number, on our account rather than for our sister alone. These were the visible things; but the invisible yet truer things, the fellowship with this man, the true (teaching) through him in the matters of the Word, the benefit of our souls for salvation, brought us here, blind and not knowing, but to our salvation. Therefore not the soldier, but a divine fellow-traveller and good escort and guardian, who keeps us safe through this whole life as on a long journey, passed by everything else, including Berytus, toward which we thought we were most hastening, brought us here and established us, doing and moving everything until by every means he should bind us to this man, the cause of many good things to us. And the divine angel, having come through so much and handed over the charge to this man, here perhaps rested, not from any fatigue or toil (for the race of divine ministers is untiring), but as having handed us to one who would fulfil the care.