Читать книгу The Notebook - José Saramago - Страница 28

What might God think of Ratzinger? What might God think of the Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church of which this Ratzinger is sovereign pope? As far as I know (and it is fair to say that I know rather little), no one has ever yet dared to formulate these heretical questions, perhaps knowing in advance that there are not nor will there ever be answers to them. As I once wrote during a spell of vain metaphysical inquiry, a good fifteen years ago, God is the silence of the universe and man is the cry that gives meaning to that silence. It is in the Lanzarote Notebooks and it has been quoted frequently by theologians of the neighboring country who have been so kind as to read my work. Of course, for God to think something of Ratzinger or of the church that the pope has been trying to rescue from a totally predictable death—whether from starvation or from failing to find ears to hear it or faith to reinforce its foundations—it would be necessary to demonstrate the existence of said God, the most impossible of tasks, in spite of the supposed proofs offered by Saint Anselm; even Saint Augustine confessed that trying to explain the Trinity was like emptying the ocean with a bucket into a hole in the sand. The reason that God, if he exists, ought to be grateful to Ratzinger is the concern the pope has shown in recent times for the delicate condition of the Catholic faith. People do not go to mass, they have stopped believing in the dogmas and acting on the prejudices that generally made up the basis of spiritual life for their forefathers, and of their material life too, as happened, for example, with many of those bankers established in the very first years of capitalism, who were strict Calvinists and, as far as one can gather, of a personal and professional honesty that was proof against any devilish temptation of a subprime variety. The reader might perhaps be thinking that this sudden switch in the transcendent subject I began by broaching—that is, the Episcopal synod gathered in Rome—was a more or less dialectic ploy to introduce a critique of the irregular behavior (to say the least) of contemporary bankers. That was not my intention, nor is this my area of expertise, if I have such a thing.

So then, let us return to Ratzinger. Something occurred to this man, who is undoubtedly intelligent, with an extremely active life within and around the Vatican (suffice it to say that he was head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, the successor, though using other methods, of the ominous Holy Office, formerly better known as the Inquisition), something that one might not expect from someone with his degree of responsibility, whose faith we should respect while not respecting the expression of his medieval thinking. Scandalized by secularism, frustrated at the church’s abandonment by the faithful, he opened his mouth at the mass with which the synod began to let loose such outrageous remarks as “If we look at history, we are forced to admit that this distancing alienation and rebellion of inconsistent Christians is not unique. As a consequence, God, though never breaking his promise of salvation, had to resort frequently to punishment.” In my village they used to say that God punishes with neither stick nor stones, and that’s why we have to be afraid of another one of those floods coming to drown all the atheists, the agnostics, the secularists in general, along with other promoters of spiritual disorder en masse. But God’s designs are boundless and unknown, so perhaps the current president of the United States has already been a part of the punishment reserved for us. Anything is possible if God wills it. On the crucial condition that he exists, of course. If he doesn’t exist (or at least he has never spoken to Ratzinger), then these are all just stories that no longer frighten anyone. God, they say, is eternal, and he has time for everything. Eternal he may be; we can allow that much so as not to contradict the pope, but his eternity is only that of eternal not-being.