Around a table at a sidewalk cafè along a lively Paris boulevard two men argued. In a language foreign to France but native to one another and the reason for their company, each man asserted his own belief and resisted that of the other. In the cathedral of Notre Dame they had met. There were both men drawn by their profession. One a career, one of faithand to each the purpose of his life. To the cathedral of Notre Dame they had come. The one to observe the accomplishments of man, the other to contemplate the workings of God within him.
"As I said, it is merely the fears and weaknesses of men that have created God. There is no God who created man," pronounced the architect.
"And I reiterate," said the believer. "The God of the Bible offers no comfort but that which must be grasped by the hand of one who endures the greatest of painthe seeing of himself as he truly is, revealed by the demands of a perfect God. Have you the courage to enter where all the hiding places of your past and the masks of your present cannot? For such courage must the true follower of Christ have daily as he walks in the light which reveals his true self."
"My true self is revealed in the buildings I design, in the clothes I wear, the car I drive, the food I eat and the company I keep. And I need no placebo God to console me in my failures or with which I can beat guilt into my conscience for my imperfections. All that I desire or need I have because the courage to take it is mine."
"And what thing would there be for you to take if not only it, but its substance also was not first created? What company would you keep? What food would you eat? With what would the car you drive be made? And the buildings of your design? What you would there be to design them?
"The me who I have made myself to be," retorted the architect. "The same me who by my own will does eat the food I desire, does drive the car I choose, does design the buildings to which I aspire, does keep the company which pleases me, and does therefore also declare I have had enough of your preaching for today."
A sternness came into the architect's eyes and he focused it upon the believer, who responded, "Have you then ended your preaching to me?"
The early spring sun was bright and clean upon the small circle of linen which separated them. A single cut rose of the color red adorned the table's center, the afternoon light glinting off the slender glass vase which held it toward the sky. So were all the tables of this quaint cafè, nestled somewhere in the Latin Quarter amongst others not quite like it. As a soft whisper of charm, this friendliness with nature was that for which both men had selected its company. There in the fresh April air their conversation had been animated and free. But of a sudden each man had reached his limit with the other. The small table was now too small. Their coffee cups, for so long empty and unseen by them, received an almost formal placement by each away from himself. The time together was over. Both men reached for the cash register slip which had been left by the waiter. It lay under a ceramic saucer.
"Allow me," said the architect.
"Allow that it be said another has done something for you," said the believer.
"One must have a need beyond himself before another can truly do anything for him." The architect was pleased with his words.
"And such we all are," said the believer.
"You see," said the architect, "one of those weaknesses for which men like you have created God." His smile was smug.
"Beware," the believer replied, "for he who boasts of his own deity will one day have but himself as god."
"That day is and always has been. For all men alike," asserted the architect. "Some are able to live with it, some are not. I am."
He wished to give no more time to the other. "Well," he said, lifting from his chair with hand in pocket, "let us each live forever with our own realities." And he tossed a ten franc coin onto the white saucer.
"In a sense we shall," said the believer. He added his own ten franc coin to the other.
"Au revoir," said the architect.
"Au revoir," said the believer.
And each man went his separate way, one to the left and one to the right.
At a newsstand not far from that departure the architect bought a copy of the Herald Tribune. He turned off the boulevard onto an uncrowded street and began browsing through the article headlines while he strolled. His eyes did read but his mind did not. With it while he thumbed the pages he thought, How utterly archaic this belief in God. I have no need of it, or Him, even if He did exist. Perhaps if He did, for this I would thank Him. But there is only me, and I
Just then the curb he did not see though it was clearly visible became to him a fall much greater than its height. The place on which his head had come against was so quickly red like the blood upon his face. He did not feel the breeze which carried away the pages of his newspaper. The people who had run to his aid he could not see and quickly no longer could he hear them. The darkness became darker and its depths increasingly deeper. He screamed but no one answered. He grabbed but nothing was taken hold of. He listened but heard only his fear. He ran but there was nothing to run upon. His eyes darted about but there was nothing to see. And all this while the darkness yet became darker and its depths always deeper. This alone could he feel, though what he felt was nothing. This alone could he see, if seeing nothing could be called sight. This alone did he knowthis ever darkening darkness and its always deepening depthsif it be possible that nothing be known. Then suddenly he grabbed in search of himself and he knew that this was him, this darkness and its depthsthe me and I of his own self, in the absolute absence of God. And when he opened his mouth it was not to thank the One who he now knew had withdrawn Himself so utterly from him. When he opened his mouth it was to scream with terror. And the ever darkening darkness and its always deepening depths were filled with a never ending howl of torment.
At this point in time where time still was measured, the believer had reached the fountains of the park across from which the Eiffel Tower pierced into the cloudless, blue sky. He relaxed beside the sounds of falling water and enjoyed the warmth of the sun. He gazed at the black-like structure with its gloomy countenance and wondered if any man had ever made for himself a more somber mass and yet thought it his glory. As he watched the elevator descend through the dark form he thought of the architect and said within himself: Certainly a man of his profession would know.
"As I said, it is merely the fears and weaknesses of men that have created God. There is no God who created man," pronounced the architect.
"And I reiterate," said the believer. "The God of the Bible offers no comfort but that which must be grasped by the hand of one who endures the greatest of painthe seeing of himself as he truly is, revealed by the demands of a perfect God. Have you the courage to enter where all the hiding places of your past and the masks of your present cannot? For such courage must the true follower of Christ have daily as he walks in the light which reveals his true self."
"My true self is revealed in the buildings I design, in the clothes I wear, the car I drive, the food I eat and the company I keep. And I need no placebo God to console me in my failures or with which I can beat guilt into my conscience for my imperfections. All that I desire or need I have because the courage to take it is mine."
"And what thing would there be for you to take if not only it, but its substance also was not first created? What company would you keep? What food would you eat? With what would the car you drive be made? And the buildings of your design? What you would there be to design them?
"The me who I have made myself to be," retorted the architect. "The same me who by my own will does eat the food I desire, does drive the car I choose, does design the buildings to which I aspire, does keep the company which pleases me, and does therefore also declare I have had enough of your preaching for today."
A sternness came into the architect's eyes and he focused it upon the believer, who responded, "Have you then ended your preaching to me?"
The early spring sun was bright and clean upon the small circle of linen which separated them. A single cut rose of the color red adorned the table's center, the afternoon light glinting off the slender glass vase which held it toward the sky. So were all the tables of this quaint cafè, nestled somewhere in the Latin Quarter amongst others not quite like it. As a soft whisper of charm, this friendliness with nature was that for which both men had selected its company. There in the fresh April air their conversation had been animated and free. But of a sudden each man had reached his limit with the other. The small table was now too small. Their coffee cups, for so long empty and unseen by them, received an almost formal placement by each away from himself. The time together was over. Both men reached for the cash register slip which had been left by the waiter. It lay under a ceramic saucer.
"Allow me," said the architect.
"Allow that it be said another has done something for you," said the believer.
"One must have a need beyond himself before another can truly do anything for him." The architect was pleased with his words.
"And such we all are," said the believer.
"You see," said the architect, "one of those weaknesses for which men like you have created God." His smile was smug.
"Beware," the believer replied, "for he who boasts of his own deity will one day have but himself as god."
"That day is and always has been. For all men alike," asserted the architect. "Some are able to live with it, some are not. I am."
He wished to give no more time to the other. "Well," he said, lifting from his chair with hand in pocket, "let us each live forever with our own realities." And he tossed a ten franc coin onto the white saucer.
"In a sense we shall," said the believer. He added his own ten franc coin to the other.
"Au revoir," said the architect.
"Au revoir," said the believer.
And each man went his separate way, one to the left and one to the right.
At a newsstand not far from that departure the architect bought a copy of the Herald Tribune. He turned off the boulevard onto an uncrowded street and began browsing through the article headlines while he strolled. His eyes did read but his mind did not. With it while he thumbed the pages he thought, How utterly archaic this belief in God. I have no need of it, or Him, even if He did exist. Perhaps if He did, for this I would thank Him. But there is only me, and I
Just then the curb he did not see though it was clearly visible became to him a fall much greater than its height. The place on which his head had come against was so quickly red like the blood upon his face. He did not feel the breeze which carried away the pages of his newspaper. The people who had run to his aid he could not see and quickly no longer could he hear them. The darkness became darker and its depths increasingly deeper. He screamed but no one answered. He grabbed but nothing was taken hold of. He listened but heard only his fear. He ran but there was nothing to run upon. His eyes darted about but there was nothing to see. And all this while the darkness yet became darker and its depths always deeper. This alone could he feel, though what he felt was nothing. This alone could he see, if seeing nothing could be called sight. This alone did he knowthis ever darkening darkness and its always deepening depthsif it be possible that nothing be known. Then suddenly he grabbed in search of himself and he knew that this was him, this darkness and its depthsthe me and I of his own self, in the absolute absence of God. And when he opened his mouth it was not to thank the One who he now knew had withdrawn Himself so utterly from him. When he opened his mouth it was to scream with terror. And the ever darkening darkness and its always deepening depths were filled with a never ending howl of torment.
At this point in time where time still was measured, the believer had reached the fountains of the park across from which the Eiffel Tower pierced into the cloudless, blue sky. He relaxed beside the sounds of falling water and enjoyed the warmth of the sun. He gazed at the black-like structure with its gloomy countenance and wondered if any man had ever made for himself a more somber mass and yet thought it his glory. As he watched the elevator descend through the dark form he thought of the architect and said within himself: Certainly a man of his profession would know.
