Faith (n.) in a time of testing means we must believe everything or deny everything — and who would dare to deny everything?
Faith (n.) leaves the Christian two options when an innocent youth can have his eyes destroyed: lose it, or consent to having his own eyes destroyed.
Faith (n.) for the subject of the Empire is Ignatius's: be ready to believe that what I see as white is black if the hierarchy defines it so.
Faith (n.) needs the unbeliever to believe too: all men believe in God, even those who reject Him — for if not, the believer's life would lose all meaning.
Faith (n.) once dogmatic erects its own altars and demands unconditional adoration — then the scaffolds the mob overthrew reappear, and the Masses of the new faith are celebrated with blood.
Faith (n.) must go precisely to the unacceptable: not ‘this I understand, but that I cannot accept,’ but straight to the heart of what cannot be accepted.
Faith (n.) leads to immortal life but presumes acceptance of the mystery and of evil, and resignation to injustice — so whoever cannot accept it because of the suffering of children refuses eternal life too.