RIZAL'S THIRD LETTER
TO FATHER PASTELLS
Dapitan, January 9, 1893
My Most Reverend Father:
With great pleasure I have read your
esteemed and profound the letter of December 8th. I am most grateful to you for
your continued interest in me.
For some time now I have been examining
my beliefs and the foundations on which they rest. I have reviewed what little
is left of what my dear professor, Father Sanchez has aptly called
"shipwreck of faith," or the solid bases that have withstood so many
storms. In the definition and exposition of my ideas I should like to be a
sincere and accurate as possible as I value Your Reverence so much only for
what you are, or for what you were to me in my adolescent years, the
recollection of which is always dear and sacred to me, but also for your being
still one of the few persons who, far from forgetting me in my adversity, have
so benevolently lent me a helping hand.
Gladly, therefore, I shall answer your
questions in all candor so that you may see for yourself whether all is lost or
there is yet something left which may be made use of.
More than by faith, I firmly believe by
reasoning and by necessity that a Creator exists. Who is He? What human sounds,
what words of any language, can enclose or envelop such Being whose wonders
stagger the imagination that pictures them? Who can give Him an adequate name
when a petty human being here on earth with an ephemeral power has two or three
names, three or four surnames, and the many titles?
Dios we call Him in Spanish, but that merely recalls the Latin deus
and the Greek Zeus. What is He? If fear of my ignorance did not deter
me, I should ascribe to Him to an infinite degree all the beautiful and holy
qualities that my mind can conceive. Somebody has said that each man makes his
God in his own image. If I remember right, Anacreon said that if the bull could
imagine a god, it would imagine him to be like itself –– with horns and a
superlative bellowing power.
Nevertheless, I believe God to be
infinitely wise, perfect, and good. But then, my idea of the infinite is
imperfect and confused, considering the wonders of His works; the order that
governs them, their overwhelming magnificence and extent, and the goodness that
shines through all of them. The lucubrations of a poor worm, the least of all
creatures on this tiny ball of earth, can never offend His inconceivable
majesty however crazy they may be. The very thought of Him overpowers me, makes
my mind reel, and every time my reason tries to lift up its eyes to that Being,
it falls dazzled, bewildered , overwhelmed. Fear seizes me and I resolve to keep
silent rather than be like Anacreon’s bull.
With this vague but irresistible
feeling pervading whole being before the inconceivable, the superhuman, the
infinite, I leave its study to clearer minds . In suspense I listen to what the
different religions say, and unable to pass judgment on what lies beyond my
comprehension, I content myself with studying Him through His creatures, my
fellow-beings. In my mysterious voice I hear within me, the purity of which I
endeavor to preserve above all things so as to enable me to act in accordance
with it, I try to read, to guess, His will in all that surrounds me.
Many religions claim to have that
written in condensed form in their books and dogmas, but apart from the
numerous contradictions, the varied interpretations of words, the many obscure
points . . ."
Dapitan, April 4, 1893
My Most Reverend Father:
In time I received your gift, Monsignor
Bougaud’s work*, which I am reading with the liveliest interest. It
is one of the best works of its kind that I have seen, not only by its
exposition, but also by its eminently Christian and conciliatory spirit, by the
clarity with which the author writes and the strength of his convictions. If
Sarda’s work is that of a champion or a polemist, Monsignor Bougaud’s is that
of a prelate in the most beautiful sense of the word.
Let us see if by reading it, I shall
change my faith or the faith that you miss in me will be restored; if
not, we shall have to content ourselves with what God has given to each of us.
Do not be surprised that I am quite
late in answering your esteemed letter of last February 2nd. For such delay, I
am very sorry. Were it possible. I should prefer to be charged with discourtesy
rather than be accused of wounding your convictions directly in this discussion.
With Your Reverence it would have been
much pleasanter for me to confine myself to defending my views rather than
taking the offensive. However, you challenge me, and so, much against my will,
I accept the challenge but with manu nuda (naked hand) as I do not like
to use arms –– for that matter, I do not have any, not even books with which to
prove my citations.
We are in accord that God exists. How
can I doubt His existence when I am convinced on my own? To recognize the
effect is to admit the cause. To doubt the existence of God is to doubt one’s
conscience; and to doubt one’s conscience is to doubt everything. In such a
case, what would be the purpose of life?
Now, if the result of reasoning may be
called faith, my faith on God is blind, blind in the sense that it knows
nothing. I neither believe nor disbelieve the qualities that many people
ascribe to Him. I smile at the definitions and lucubrations of theologians and
philosophers about that ineffable and inscrutable Being. Convinced that I stand
before that supreme Problem which confused voices wish to explain to me, I
cannot but answer: "Perhaps, you are right; but the God I am aware of is
far greater and far better. Plus supra!" (far beyond)!
I do not believe the Revelation impossible.
Rather, I believe in it. Not, however, in the revelations which each and every
religion claims to possess. If we examine, compare, and scrutinize such
revelations impartially, we shall detect in all of them human claws and
the stamp of the age in which they were written. No; mans makes his God in his
own image and then ascribes to Him his own works in the same manner that the
Polish magnates used to choose their king and then impose their will on him.
All of us do the same: Your Reverence does it when you say, "He who made eyes,
will he not see? He who shaped ears, will he not hear?" Pardon me, but
since we have already spoken about the bull of Anacreon,, let us hear it below:
"He who made the horns, will he not know how to gore?" No; what is
perfection with us may be imperfection with God.
Poor inhabitants that we are of a small
planet lost in at the infinite space, let us now make God in our own image.
However brilliant and sublime our intellect may be, it is at best a tiny spark
that glows and is extinguished in a moment. But it alone can give us an idea of
that blaze of fire, that conflagration, that vast sea of light.
I believe in revelation, but in that
living revelation of Nature which surrounds us everywhere; in that powerful,
eternal, incessant, incorruptible, clear, distinct, and universal voice like
the one from whom it emanates; that revelation which speaks to us and pervades
our being from birth to death. What books can reveal to us better God’s
goodness, love, providence, eternity, glory, and wisdom? Coeli enarrant
gloriam Domini, et opera manum ejus enunciat firmamentum (The heavens
declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork). What more
Bible, what more gospel, does humanity wish? Ah, does not Your Reverence
believe that men did wrong in seeking the divine will in palimpsests or
parchments and temples, instead of searching for it in the works of Nature and
under the august dome of the heavens? Instead of interpreting obscure passages
or phrases designed to provoked hatred, wars, and dissensions, would it not
have been better to interpret the works of Nature to enable us to adapt our
lives more readily to its inviolable laws and utilize its forces for our
perfection? When did men begin to act as brothers? Was it not only when they
found the first pages of the work of God? Like the prodigal son who, blind to
the joys of his parents’ home, left in search of other homes, mankind has for
centuries wandered, miserable and full of hate.
I do not deny that there are precepts
of absolute necessity and usefulness clearly enunciated in Nature, but God has
lodged them in the human heart, in man’s conscience, His best temple. Hence, I
adore more this good and provident God. He has endowed each of us with all that
is necessary to save ourselves and has continuously opened to us the book of
His revelation with His priest unceasingly speaking to us through the voice of
our conscience.
Consequently, the best religions are
the simplest ones, the most natural, the ones most in harmony with the needs
and aspirations of man. Herein lies the principal excellence of the doctrine of
Christ.
When I say that the voice of my
conscience can come only from God, I do not prejudge; I merely deduce. God
could not have created me for my misfortune; for what wrong could I have done to
Him before I was born, that He should decree my perdition? Nor could He have
created me for no purpose or for an indifferent one; for then, why my
sufferings why the slow torture of my unceasing longing? For a good purpose He
must have created me, and for that I have no better guide than my conscience,
my conscience alone, which judges and appraises my acts. He would be
inconsistent if after having created me, He did not provide me with the means
to attain that purpose. He would be like the blacksmith who wanted to make a
knife, but did not sharpen any of the edges.
All Your Reverence’s brilliant and
subtle arguments, which I shall not try to refute because it would require a
whole dissertation, can not convince me that the Catholic Church is endowed
with infallibility. In it the human claws are no less apparent. It is a
more perfect institution than the others, but human nevertheless, with all the
defects, errors, and vicissitudes inherent in the work of man. As the direct
heir of the political sciences, the religions, and the arts, of Egypt, Greece,
and Rome, it is more wisely and ably managed. Its foundation lies in the heart
of the people, in the imagination of the multitude, in the attachment of women;
but like all other religions, it has its dark points, which veils under the
name mysteries; it has its puerilities, which it sanctifies as miracles; it has
its divisions or dissensions, which it calls sects or heresies.
Nor can I believe that before the
advent of Jesus Christ, all the peoples were in the abyss you speak of.
Precisely, there is Socrates who dies for proclaiming the existence of only one
God. There is divine Plato. There are the virtuous Aristides, Phocion, and
Miltiades. There is Zarathustra, founder of the religion of force; and there is
Kung Sien, founder of the religion of reason and China’s lawmaker.
Neither can I believe that after Christ
everything has been light, peace, and happiness; that the majority of men have
become just. To confute all such assertions, you have the battlefields, the
stakes, the destructive fires, the prisons, the crimes committed, the tortures
of the Inquisition, the hates that Christian nations engender against one
another on account of flimsy differences; the slavery that for eighteen
centuries was tolerated, if not sanctioned. Prostitution is still rampant.
There is, finally, a great portion of society that is still hostile to its own
religion.
Your Reverence will tell me that all
this exists because they left the church. But did not these evils exist when
the church was dominant? Did they not exist in the Middle Ages, and when the
whole of Europe was a battlefield? Did they not exist when in the first three
centuries the church was in the catacombs, in distress, and without power? If
there was a peace then ––and there was no peace ––it could not have been due to
the church because the church was not in power.
I rejoice , my dear Father Pastells,
when I see men like you, filled with faith and virtue, sustain a faith and
lament the present troubles of humanity. This shows love of that faith. I
rejoice, too, that generous spirits like Your Reverence watch over the future
of that faith. But I rejoice more when I behold humanity in its immortal march,
always moving forward, in spite of its failings and errors, in spite of its
deviations, because all this proves me its glorious end, and that it has been
created for a better purpose than to be devoured by flames. All this fills me
with trust in God who will not allow His handiwork to be destroyed in spite of
the devil and all our acts of madness.
As to contradictions in the canonical
books and miracles I confess that the subject has been so thoroughly threshed
out that it is a waste of time to go over it again. All can be explained when
one is favorably inclined to hear, and all can be accepted when one is willing
to believe. This will has an enormous power over the will. I shall not speak
either of the contradictions in the genealogies or of the Cana miracle which
Christ performed although he said His hour had not yet come. Nor shall I speak
of the loaves of bread and fishes, or of the temptation, etc. All these things
do not reduce the stature of the man who uttered the Sermon on the Mount and
the famous, "Father, forgive them . . ." What I am after far transcends
all that.
Who died on the Cross? Was it the God
or the man? If it was the God, I do not understand how a God, conscious of his
mission, could die. I do not understand how a God could exclaim in the garden, "Pater,
Si possible transeat a me calix ista" (Father, if it possible, let
this cup pass from me) and again exclaim on the cross, "My God, my God,
why hast thou forsaken?" This cry is absolutely human. It was the cry of a
man who had faith in the justice and goodness of his cause. Except the words, "Hodie
mecum eris" (Today you will be with me), it is the cry of Christ on
Calvary. All this shows a man in torment and agony, but what a man! To me,
Christ the man is greater than Christ the God. Had it been God who said.
"Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do," those who
laid hands on him should have been forgiven, unless we say that God is like the
certain men who say one thing and then do another.
I find another objection to the
miracles of Christ in the apostasy of his disciples and their refusal to believe
in his resurrection. had they really witnessed so many acts of wonder and
resurrection, they would not have deserted him so cravenly nor doubted his
resurrection. Whoever gives back life to others can very well recover his own.
As to Your Reverence’s explanation
about the miracles that He has decreed the laws will not contradict himself by
suspending them at certain times in order to attain certain objectives, it
seems to me that though he may not contradict himself, yet he is inferior to
him who can realize the same objectives without suspending the operation of
laws. A good one governs in peace without changing or disturbing anything.
Your Reverence calls this the stupid
pride of rationalists. But a question suggests itself: who is more stupidly
proud, the man who is satisfied with following his own reason, or the man who
tries to impose on others what reason does not prompt him to tell them, but
just because he surmises it to be the truth? What has been reasoned out has
never appeared stupid to me. Pride has always manifested itself in the idea of
domination. . . .
I congratulate Your Reverence for the
relative rest and leisure give you in reducing the load you used to carry.