Your faith in the wake of such a tragic loss is inspiring. A lot of very devout men have sadly leaned in the opposite direction. (Even C.S. Lewis had a crisis of faith when his beloved died.) May we all be so strong-minded if, God forbid, any of us is called to rely on that degree of virtue. And I second Julie’s request, especially because I’ve always tended to reject Pascal on this matter. Yet this seemingly simple, “too easy” kind of argument, just like the ontological argument, has always interested me.
I read in Benedict XVI’s mentor: Henri de Lubac’s great book The Splendor of the Church that it is, perhaps, that the Church, our faith, the mystery of God if you will, are not things we can ever fully grasp: “the Church is not a this-wordly reality such as lends itself to exact measurement and analysis. So long as the present existence lasts she cannot be perfectly known but remains hidden as under a veil” (p. 18).
My faith has been, since I was a child, something undeniable. Even when I turned away from the Church in my rebellious teens, convinced it was just man made rules and structure with nothing to offer the true free “thinker”, I still had a real relationship with God, I bore in myself, in my very soul, a seed of eternity, irreducible to the merely material, which I knew could only have its origin in God (
GS 18, CCC 33).
I have invested in the love that I felt in my heart, trusting the Church and having faith in God, I have studied that which I struggled to understand and come to see that where I disagreed with the Church, I was usually at fault. I have found peace in that I realise not everyone is where I am, I do not have to win every discussion or argument, I merely have to know that there is depth and scope within Church teaching for all these positions to be pondered and studied. I have decided that I will never be able to read everything ever written or understand the nuance of every argument, but I know that someone somewhere in the Church has pondered carefully and considered all the minutia and probable outcomes. In short, I have learnt to trust, I have learnt that the Church is a mystery of faith and surpasses the capacities and powers of our intellect no less that any other. More than this, she is, as far as we are concerned, the meeting place of all mysteries; and mystery is something that is fitly believed in obscurity, something to be meditated in silence—“Seek not the things that are too high for thee” (Sir 3:22).
Now think of Pascal. It is the idea elucidated in this verse that called forth protest from Pascal (and many other Christian writers; St. Ephraem, St. Basil, St. Hilary, William of Saint-Thierry and Alain of Lille). Innumerable believers have felt the greatest reluctance in speaking of the Church. They have felt a sort of deep-seated resentment against those whose provocativeness has forced them to talk about something they simply want to adore, and to drag the sacred object of their faith out into the turmoil of theorising and disputation.
We are the Church, after all, (as Pope Pius XII reminded us when speaking of the laity) and since this is so, it would seem that there is a danger in constant analysis that threatens the man who wants to be a spectator at his own prayer. For if you turn back in contemplation of yourself instead of contemplating the object of your faith and invoking that of your hope, the recoil and self-regarding involved seem likely to put a sort of filter between your spiritual vision and the reality that is the object of the faith and hope alike.
So, when Ruth was killed, I felt that I was wrapped in my faith. Cosseted and held up by God the Holy Trinity. Not abandoned, not betrayed, but loved, comforted, strengthened. It was my Church community who came to my rescue, who came and grieved in their hundreds. Who mourned and wept, who prayed and prayed and prayed, and tried to understand. It has been impossibly hard to loose someone so loved, someone so dear to my heart, someone I held and kissed and blessed each and every day, but there is a part of me that gets it, on an ontological level (even though I don’t on a human, material level).
So, with Pascal, I place my bet. There is only one way I can bet, the wager is loaded, all my money is on God.