much. Nowhere is he thought so little of as in the places where this accumulation is going on. That is why the history of the West seems to me to reveal the insufficiency of the guarantee that man offers to man. For man’s welfare and happiness we must have the presence and the guarantee of God.”
He paused, then added, thoughtfully:
“Perhaps Pascal had caught a glimpse of this. Perhaps his piercing gaze had seen from afar what the methodological myopia of the scholars had not seen.”
Suddenly the knight raised his eyes toward the sky, and said:
“But now it is the hour of twilight. Let us pray.”
These moments had brought Samba Diallo a renewal of peace. The words of his father had once more restored his serenity, as in former days the words of the teacher had done. There are those who believe and those who do not believe; the division is clear. It leaves no one outside its neatly drawn line.
Thus, there are those who believe. They, as the knight had said, are those who are justified before God. Samba Diallo paused to consider this new step. The idea was just. In effect, he said to himself, the act of faith is an act of allegiance. There is nothing in the believer which does not draw a particular significance from that allegiance. So the action of a believer, if it is voluntary, is differentin its essence from the identical material action of a non-believer. So it is with his work. At this moment in his reflections Samba Diallo heard, like an echo brought to him out of his memories, the voice of his teacher, who, many years before, had been commenting on one of the sacred verses of the Word. It is God Who has created us,” the teacher was saying, “ourselves and all that we do.” And he insisted upon the second part of the sentence, explaining that it flowed, of necessity, from the first. He used to add that the greatness of God was measured by the fact that in spite of such a total legislation man nevertheless felt himself free. “For being in the water, is the fish less free than the bird in the air?” he would say. Now, Samba Diallo had to make an effort to detach his thought from the memory of the teacher.
“If a man is justified of God, the time he takes from prayer to do his work—that is still prayer.…” The knight was right. Everything was coherent, satisfying to the mind and spirit. At that moment, so, Samba Diallo had found peace again. The prayer that he offered, there behind the knight, was a prayer in serenity.
When he had finished the prayer, he became lost in his thoughts again. He went over the conclusions the knight had drawn, and set himself to consider them. Always he felt a high degree of pleasure in turning those clear thoughts over in his mind, when he caught up with them, as if to verify their fine quality. Whatever might be the slant at which he took them, he was assured of finding them identical and stable: compelling. This toughness of ideas delighted him. At the same time, he was testing out his intelligence here, as the blade of a razor is tested on the file.
“The work of him who believes is justified of God.” That seemed to him true, however he might consider it. To believe: that is to recognize one’s own will as a small fragment of the divine will. It follows from this that activity, the creation of will, is the creation of God. At this moment his thought brought back to him, in memory, another recollection, a page from Descartes. Where had he read that? In the
Méditations Métaphysiques
, perhaps. He no longer remembered. He only recalled the thought of the French master: The rapport between God and man is first of all a rapport of will to will; can there be a rapport more intimate?
“So,” he said to himself, “the masters are in agreement. Descartes, as well as the teacher of the Diallobé, as well as my father—they have all experienced the irreducible inflexibility of this idea.” Samba Diallo’s joy increased with the realization of this
He paused, then added, thoughtfully:
“Perhaps Pascal had caught a glimpse of this. Perhaps his piercing gaze had seen from afar what the methodological myopia of the scholars had not seen.”
Suddenly the knight raised his eyes toward the sky, and said:
“But now it is the hour of twilight. Let us pray.”
These moments had brought Samba Diallo a renewal of peace. The words of his father had once more restored his serenity, as in former days the words of the teacher had done. There are those who believe and those who do not believe; the division is clear. It leaves no one outside its neatly drawn line.
Thus, there are those who believe. They, as the knight had said, are those who are justified before God. Samba Diallo paused to consider this new step. The idea was just. In effect, he said to himself, the act of faith is an act of allegiance. There is nothing in the believer which does not draw a particular significance from that allegiance. So the action of a believer, if it is voluntary, is differentin its essence from the identical material action of a non-believer. So it is with his work. At this moment in his reflections Samba Diallo heard, like an echo brought to him out of his memories, the voice of his teacher, who, many years before, had been commenting on one of the sacred verses of the Word. It is God Who has created us,” the teacher was saying, “ourselves and all that we do.” And he insisted upon the second part of the sentence, explaining that it flowed, of necessity, from the first. He used to add that the greatness of God was measured by the fact that in spite of such a total legislation man nevertheless felt himself free. “For being in the water, is the fish less free than the bird in the air?” he would say. Now, Samba Diallo had to make an effort to detach his thought from the memory of the teacher.
“If a man is justified of God, the time he takes from prayer to do his work—that is still prayer.…” The knight was right. Everything was coherent, satisfying to the mind and spirit. At that moment, so, Samba Diallo had found peace again. The prayer that he offered, there behind the knight, was a prayer in serenity.
When he had finished the prayer, he became lost in his thoughts again. He went over the conclusions the knight had drawn, and set himself to consider them. Always he felt a high degree of pleasure in turning those clear thoughts over in his mind, when he caught up with them, as if to verify their fine quality. Whatever might be the slant at which he took them, he was assured of finding them identical and stable: compelling. This toughness of ideas delighted him. At the same time, he was testing out his intelligence here, as the blade of a razor is tested on the file.
“The work of him who believes is justified of God.” That seemed to him true, however he might consider it. To believe: that is to recognize one’s own will as a small fragment of the divine will. It follows from this that activity, the creation of will, is the creation of God. At this moment his thought brought back to him, in memory, another recollection, a page from Descartes. Where had he read that? In the
Méditations Métaphysiques
, perhaps. He no longer remembered. He only recalled the thought of the French master: The rapport between God and man is first of all a rapport of will to will; can there be a rapport more intimate?
“So,” he said to himself, “the masters are in agreement. Descartes, as well as the teacher of the Diallobé, as well as my father—they have all experienced the irreducible inflexibility of this idea.” Samba Diallo’s joy increased with the realization of this
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