Characters of the Spanish Civil War by Julio A. Gonzalo

Author:Julio A. Gonzalo [Julio A. Gonzalo]
Language: spa
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788494274015
Publisher: Ciencia y Cultura
Published: 2014-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

The Extraordinary Event

At the morning of 29 th April, I was placidly serene, meditating or, better, reflecting on that what was preoccupying me so much intellectually. Step by step, I was accepting the providentialist idea and I arrived at the point of formulating it to myself clearly and explicitly. But still my thoughts and my imagination were moving through purely abstract and metaphysical roads. I was thinking of God; but always of the God of deism, the God of pure philosophy, in that intellectual God of which you think but to which you do not pray. A humane and transcendent God, inaccessible, pure, very distant, a mere object of the intellectual investigation. I was considering him in his providence, yes, but his providence as an infinite power with which man has no other relationship than a total, mute, immobile reverence, that absolute dependence with which Schleiermacher defines the religious feeling.

In this relatively placid and serene environment, I began to think that the only attitude congruent with that impersonal Providence was that of simple resignation, complete submission, and I disposed myself in my inner self to adopt it. But my efforts were not successful in this respect; a kind of dryness or rigidity which, little by little, became hostility and animosity, a withdrawal of my soul, as if offended by the inaccessible attitude of that metaphysical God, was presenting itself in front of me. In my soul, there took hold a kind of protest, and, I think, God, pardon me, something like a blasphemy rose up to my mind. I think I accused his providence of being indifferent, sarcastic; that Providence which pleased itself in convulsing my life, bringing it up and throwing it down according to inexplicable whims, in bringing and attributing facts and events to it which I did not want, but repudiated. What can I expect –I thought– from a God who pleases himself in playing with me, which sweetens me with the expectation of an imminent perspective of happiness, to take it away from me at the same moment that I was beginning to touch it with my hands? If God is the author of the events of the life of men and He attributes and gives those events to man, I, on my part, can reject that gift. True, that life is not mine, but of a provident God; but it is mine on the other hand, since those events happen to me. Now, I can take them or reject them, and definitively I don’t want them; I do not submit myself to the destiny that God wants give to me; I do not want anything to do with God, with that inflexible, cruel and pitiless God.

It was like a fury, a tempest of anger which shook my soul; the fury of an impotent discontent. It seemed to me that there was only one thing I was free to do to make clear my opposition to that Providence which showed itself to be so inaccessible and hostile: to take my own life.

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