The Plague Religion Quotes

Most of those who took part in the Week of Prayer would have echoed a remark made by one of the churchgoers in Dr. Rieux’s hearing: "Anyhow, it can’t do any harm." (2.3.3)

"Calamity has come to you, my brethren, and, my brethren, you deserved it." (2.3.5)

"My brothers," he cries, "that fatal hunt is up, and harrying our streets today. See him there, that angel of the pestilence, comely as Lucifer, shining like Evil’s very self! He is hovering above your roofs with his great spear in his right hand, poised to strike, while his left hand is stretched toward one or other of your houses. Maybe at this very moment his finger is pointing to your door, the red spear crashing on its panels, and even now the plague is entering your home." (2.3.12)

"You fondly imagined it was enough to visit God on Sundays, and thus could make free of your weekdays. You believed some brief formalities, some bendings of the knee, would recompense Him well enough for your criminal indifference. But God is not mocked. […] Now you are learning your lesson." (2.3.15)

"It gives us a glimpse of that radiant eternal light which glows, a small still flame, in the dark core of human suffering. And this light, too, illuminates the shadowed paths that lead toward deliverance. It reveals the will of God in action, unfailingly transforming evil into good. […] This, my friends, is the vast consolation I would hold out to you." (2.3.17)

To Tarrou, who had shown surprise at the secluded life he led, he gave the following explanation, more or less. According to religion, the first half of a man’s life is an upgrade; the second goes downhill. On the descending days he had no claim, they may be snatched from him at any moment; thus he can do nothing with them and the best thing, precisely, is to do nothing with them. He obviously had no compunction about contradicting himself, for a few minutes later told Tarrou that God did not exist, since otherwise there would be no need for priests. (2.6.21)

"Paneloux is a man of learning, a scholar. He hasn’t come in contact with death; that’s why he can speak with such assurance of the truth—with a capital T. But every country priest who visits his parishioners and has heard a man gasping for breath on his deathbed thinks as I do. He’d try to relieve human suffering before trying to point out its excellence." (2.7.50)

Rieux said that […] if he believed in an all-powerful God he would cease curing the sick and leave that to Him. But no one in the world believed in a God of that sort […]. And this was proved by the fact that no one ever threw himself in Providence completely. (2.7.56)

The old woman went to Mass every morning. "Don’t you believe in God?" she asked him.

On Rambert’s admitting he did not, she said again that "that explained it." "Yes," she added, "you’re right. You must go back to her. Or else—what would be left you?" (4.2.23-4)

When for the third time the fiery wave broke on him, lifting him a little, the child curled himself up and shrank away to the edge of the bed, as if in terror of the flames advancing on him, licking his limbs. A moment later, after tossing his head wildly to and fro, he flung off the blanket. From between the inflamed eyelids big tears welled up and trickled down the sunken, leaden-hued cheeks. When the spasm had passed, utterly exhausted, tensing his thin legs and arms, on which, within forty-eight hours, the flesh had wasted to the bone, the child lay flat, racked on the tumbled bed, in a grotesque parody of crucifixion. (4.3.24)

In the small face, rigid as a mask of grayish clay, slowly the lips parted and from them rose a long, incessant scream, hardly varying with his respiration, and filling the ward with a fierce, indignant protest […]. Paneloux gazed down at the small mouth, fouled with the sores of the plague and pouring out the angry death-cry that has sounded through the ages of mankind. He sank on his knees, and all present found it natural to hear him say in a voice hoarse but clearly audible across that nameless, neverending wail:

"My God, spare this child!"

But the wail continued without cease. (4.3.30-32)

"I understand," Paneloux said in a low voice. "That sort of thing is revolting because it passes our human understanding. But perhaps we should love what we cannot understand."

Rieux straightened up slowly. He gazed at Paneloux, summoning to his gaze all the strength and fervor he could muster against his weariness. Then he shook his head.

"No, Father. I’ve a very different idea of love. And until my dying day I shall refuse to love a scheme of things in which children are put up to torture."

A shade of disquietude crossed the priest’s face. "Ah, doctor," he said sadly, "I’ve just realized what is meant by ‘grace’." (4.3.50-53)

"It [grace] is something I haven’t got; that I know. But I’d rather not discuss that with you. We’re working side by side for something that unites us—beyond blasphemy and prayers. And it’s the only thing that matters." (4.3.55)

Paneloux held out his hand, saying regretfully:

"And yet – I haven’t convinced you!"

"What does it matter? What I hate is death and disease, as you well know. And whether you wish it or not, we’re allies, facing them and facing them together." Rieux was still holding Paneloux’s hand. "So you see"—but he refrained from meeting the priest’s eyes—"God himself can’t part us now." (4.3.62-4)

Since joining Rieux’s band of workers Paneloux had spent his entire time in hospitals and place where he came in contact with plague. […] And constantly since then he had rubbed shoulders with death. […] But from the day on which he saw a child die, something seemed to change in him. And his face bore traces of the rising tension his thoughts. When one day he told Rieux with a smile that he was working on a short essay entitled "Is a Priest Justified in Consulting a Doctor?" Rieux had gathered that something graver lay behind the question. (4.4.1)

Moreover, most people […] had replaced normal religious practice by more or less extravagant superstitions. Thus they were readier to wear prophylactic medals of St. Roch than go to Mass. (4.4.3)

He spoke in a gentler, more thoughtful tone than on previous occasion, and several time was noticed to be stumbling over his words. A yet more noteworthy change was that instead of saying "you" he now said "we." (4.4.6)

All trials, however cruel, worked together for good to the Christian. And, indeed, what a Christian should always seek in his hour of trial was to discern that good, in what it consisted and how best he could turn it to account. (4.4.7)

And, truth to tell, nothing was more important on earth than a child's suffering, the horror it inspires in us, and the reasons we must find to account for it. (4.4.9)

Thus he might easily have assured them that the child’s sufferings would be compensated for by an eternity of bliss awaiting him. But how could he give that assurance when, to tell the truth, he knew nothing about it? […] No, he, Father Paneloux […] would stand fast, his back to the wall, and face honestly the terrible problem of a child’s agony […].

It crossed Rieux’s mind that Father Paneloux was dallying with heresy in speaking thus. (4.4.9-10)