An argument in itself worth all the theological Summae

As is only fair, I itemized the arguments favorable to God; His inexistence seemed to me to emerge intact. He has the genius of calling Himself into question by all His works; His defenders render Him odious; His worshipers, suspect. If you fear loving Him, you need merely open your Aquinas …

And I think of that Central European theology professor questioning one of his students about the proofs of the existence of God: she goes through the historical argument, the ontological, etc. But she is careful to add: “All the same I don’t believe in Him.” The professor is annoyed, takes up the proofs again, one by one; she shrugs and persists in her incredulity. Then the master draws himself up to his full height, scarlet with faith: “Young lady, I give you my word of honor that He exists!”

… An argument in itself worth all the theological Summae.

What are we to say about Immortality? To seek to elucidate it, or simply to approach it, is either aberration or fraud. Treatises nonetheless reveal its impossible fascination. If we are to believe them, we have only to entrust ourselves to a few deductions hostile to Time… And there we are, furnished with eternity, indemnified against the dust, exempt from agony.

It is not these trifles which have made me doubt my fragility. How much, on the other hand, I’ve been troubled by the meditations of an old friend, a somewhat unhinged itinerant musician! Like all lunatics, he is beset with the problems he puts to himself: he has “solved” any number. That day, after he had made his rounds of the cafe terraces, he came to question me about… immortality. “It’s unthinkable,” I told him, at once seduced and repelled by his timeless eyes, his wrinkles, his rags. A certainty inspired him: “You’re mistaken not to believe in it; if you don’t believe in it, you won’t survive. I’m sure that death will have no power over me. Moreover, whatever you say, everything has a soul. There! did you see the birds flying about in the streets, then suddenly rising above the houses to look at Paris? There’s a soul there, such things cannot die!”

Cioran
All Gall Is Divided