I have too much respect for the idea of God to make it

Georges Duhamel, the French writer and physician, once declared: “I have too much respect for the idea of God to make it responsible for such an absurd world.” These words pierce through the veil of blind faith and easy blame. They remind us that the divine—if it is to be revered—must not be made the scapegoat of human folly, nor the excuse for the world’s madness. To respect the idea of God is to see it as pure, untouchable, and higher than the corruption and chaos that men have sown upon the earth. Duhamel’s voice here is not one of denial, but of reverence—refusing to tarnish the eternal with the stains of human absurdity.

The origin of this quote lies in Duhamel’s own life. He lived through the First World War as a military doctor, tending to the broken bodies of young men. He witnessed slaughter on an unimaginable scale, destruction wrought by human pride and invention. In those trenches of horror, where steel and fire devoured flesh, he learned to separate the sacred from the profane. It was not God who had built machine guns, not God who had turned Europe into a charnel house, but mankind. Thus, in defiance, he declared that the responsibility lay not with heaven but with ourselves. To blame God for such a world would be to insult the very idea of God, which ought to remain untainted by human cruelty.

The ancients, too, wrestled with this problem. Job in the Scriptures cried out to God in despair, demanding to know why suffering was allowed. Yet even he came to realize that the universe is vast, and man is often the author of his own misery. The Stoics of Greece and Rome taught that the world follows its natural course, and that to ascribe human absurdities to the divine is folly. Epictetus counseled that if men live in disorder, it is not because of Zeus, but because they fail to live in harmony with reason. Duhamel’s cry is but a modern echo of this eternal wisdom: do not profane the sacred by blaming it for our own destruction.

Consider the story of Hiroshima. When the bomb fell, thousands were consumed in an instant, and the world beheld a new face of human absurdity. Some asked, “Where was God?” But Duhamel’s words remind us: it was not God who split the atom for war, nor God who unleashed the fire. It was man, driven by fear, ambition, and pride. To place this burden on divinity is to misunderstand both God and ourselves. The sacred is not diminished by our failures; it is we who must account for them.

The lesson is profound: if the world is absurd, it is because of human blindness, greed, and division. To respect the divine is to absolve it of our sins, and instead to take responsibility for the work of our hands. We must stop blaming heaven for the wounds we inflict upon one another, and instead awaken to our duty as caretakers of this earth. Respect for God begins with responsibility for ourselves.

Practical action must follow. Let no one say, “It is God’s will” when cruelty reigns; instead, let them ask, “What can I do to heal this wound?” When confronted with injustice, do not passively ascribe it to fate; resist it, correct it, bear witness against it. When despair rises at the sight of a broken world, do not curse heaven, but labor with your hands, your words, and your heart to mend what is torn. In this way, you honor the sacred not with excuses, but with action.

Thus, O seekers, take Duhamel’s wisdom into your hearts. The absurdity of the world is not proof against God, but proof against man. If we would keep the divine pure, we must shoulder the burden of the earth ourselves. Let us respect the idea of God by refusing to diminish it with our failings. Instead, let us live as healers, builders, and peacemakers, so that the world might one day be less absurd, and more worthy of the sacred name we dare to invoke.

And remember this final truth: to respect God is not only to bow in awe, but to rise in responsibility. For the divine is not honored by our blame, but by our courage to change the world that we ourselves have made.