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Moreover, among those who say, "I don't know how to pray," or "I do not wish to pray," there are undoubtedly individuals with a rare nobility of mind and heart. What, then, does it mean to say that prayer is necessary for salvation? And what is prayer?
Even in the case of atheists far removed from God, we cannot claim purely and simply that they have rejected God. Even those who think they have definitely rejected God are never rejected by God, or they would disappear like a shooting star! A being capable of denying God would have to be another God or superior to God; yet the existence of another God (given that God is infinite) would be in radical contradiction to the divine nature. The rejection of God is nothing other than the fruit of a despair springing from the impossibility of "ridding oneself" of God once and for all. This eternal attack on God whom we cannot deny, and the anguish of the soul torn by this failure, would, on the contrary, constitute the paradoxical proof of God's existence. In his novel Nausea Sartre writes:
If anyone had asked me what existence was, I would have answered, in good faith, that it was nothing; simply an empty form which was added to external things without changing anything in their nature.' We were a heap of living creatures, irritated, embarrassed at ourselves, we hadn't the slightest reason to be there, none of us, each one, confused, vaguely alarmed, felt in the way in relation to the others. In the way: it was the only relationship I could establish between these trees, these gates, these stones.' In the way, the chestnut tree there, opposite me, a little to the left.' And I soft, weak, obscene, digesting, juggling with dismal thoughts I, too, was In the way. Fortunately, I didn't feel it, although I realized it, but I was uncomfortable because I was afraid of feeling it.' I dreamed vaguely of killing myself to wipe out at least one of these superfluous lives. But even my death would have been In the way. In the way, my corpse, my blood on these stones, between these plants, at the back of this smiling garden. And the decomposed flesh would have been In the way in the earth which would receive my bones, at last, cleaned, stripped, peeled, proper and clean as teeth, it would have been In the way; I was In the way for eternity.(1)
Sartre's text expresses too clearly, alas, the despair of this existentialist in his relentless effort to deny God. It is the obdurate disillusionment of one who dreams of a world free in the nothingness of a godless existence. Once God is rejected, anxiety, trouble, and anguish stealthily well up in the soul. It has been said that after his conversion Pascal sewed, in the lining of his coat, the words: "Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy."(2) Sartre's sarcastic parody of these words "Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy; God does not exist, alleluia" expresses the cruel nihilism that tormented him. Did Sartre succeed in denying God all the way? Or is his rather the anguished call of a man whose angry hand reached in vain to remove the mask of a man-made caricature of God, while he cried out to the true God whose name he did not know? I do not presume to judge, yet I believe that this cry of Sartre betrays the deep torment he could not free himself from.
In reading this excerpt from Sartre's Nausea, I immediately thought of St. Thomas's reflection on the contingency of creatures, in which he proposes a radically different solution by positing the existence of the Necessary Being.(3) Is not Sartre's anguish, his denial of God, a most eloquent testimony of God's very existence? Indeed, in the face of this centrifugal movement that tends to distance humanity from God, another power manifests itself, an equally intense centripetal power that brings humanity closer to God. This invisible power exercised by God reveals itself through anguish. If prayer consists in seeking God, then the anguish of one who denies God reveals precisely an inarticulate desire to sound the depths of prayer. And to go a step further, this very anguish can be called the "reverse side of prayer," or "anti-prayer."
To be capable of hatred is also to be capable of the greatest possible love. Among the many persecutors of God, some, like St. Paul, came to be chosen vessels of his love. However, though the majority of people, for better or worse, do not rebel against God, they do not actively desire God's love in any way. Many virtuous and cultured people plan to live "uprightly" without God or religion. Many among them can justly be called "the wise of the world." They say with Confucius: "At fifteen I set my heart on learning; at thirty I took my stand; at forty I came to be free from doubts; at fifty I understood the Decree of Heaven; at sixty my ear was attuned; at seventy I followed my heart's desire without overstepping the line." (4) These persons do not deny God or despise those who pray. Nevertheless and leaving aside pride it is obvious that they experience nothing but intense emptiness when they kneel before an altar. To say, for example, that God is present in a special way on an altar or in the temple sounds childish to them. As Kant says, the moral law written in the human heart is the most beautiful foundation of their faith; such tranquility of spirit, such confidence in one's judgment merits, without any irony, the greatest respect.
However and this may be an illusion on my part I sometimes sense a subtle and apparently inexplicable shadow on the faces of persons who have a great opinion of their own importance. They certainly understand how to live, but they fail to face the most fundamental questions, such as "What is existence?" or "Who am I?" Such individuals are not unconscious of such problems; in fact they are perfectly aware of the danger that lies in confronting them. Is it the fear of being drawn into this bottomless quagmire, or do they fear a compromise with their own mediocrity? One senses in them a deep sadness and a last secret weakness against which they feel powerless. And hidden pain often becomes unbearable when they least expect it. Perhaps it hits them on a night when they are hurrying home, alone, shivering under a downpour of rain or in a train as they stare thoughtlessly at the gray and overcast sky; suddenly the ordinary passage of time, imperceptible externally, strikes against a black submerged reef. And when this happens the confidence that had seemed to direct everything so peacefully suddenly collapses. Not even a "my God" comes to the lips. This "holy sadness" must not be defiled by human words. And yet this muted sigh rising from a wounded soul appears to me to be the most beautiful yearning for the Eternal.
Oh, the beauty of those who know how to cry
in everything!
A deep serenity is their heritage.
Oh, the beauty of those tears
shed profusely....
They beautify the dreams of mere creatures.
How I bless these endearing showers of tears.
I love their ephemeral existence, and the
wonder that falls with them.
Saisei Muro (1889 1962)
These sincere people, apparently atheists, seek God hesitantly while, at the same time, experiencing an overwhelming sadness at not being able to reach God. One can discern in this searching, how-ever, a kind of pre-prayer.
Indeed, the silhouette of the Eternal is, as it were, stamped by a red hot iron at the very root of our existence. "Though this outer human nature of ours may be falling into decay, at the same time our inner human nature is renewed day by day" (2 Cor 4:16), and a secret awakening awaits us. What kind of shock will awaken these souls? Unexpected happiness or misfortune? Or the word of God fervently uttered by the lips of a saint? Or perhaps exercises suitable for well-known ascetics but beyond the reach of ordinary people? The answer is clear: it is none of these things. Our souls are waiting for God. Only God can reveal God. Besides, the God who lives in the heavens and who governs humanity as absolute master is not the God they are seeking. If it were so, Christ's incarnation would be in vain. The eternal and infinite God assumed all of human existence out of love for each human person. Assuredly, this transcends all comprehension, and yet it is this God who, at this very moment, continues to pursue and to challenge each one of us interiorly by knocking on the door of our minds. To listen to this call is itself pre- pray-er. And so, leaving this dull abode, the soul awakens and allows its prayer to vibrate in song as it wings its way to heaven: "Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me" (Rev 3:20).