Before the Second World War, I often visited the cathedral at Cologne. I admired this beautiful piece of Gothic architecture for hours at a time -- its graceful flying buttresses, magnificent high-domed roof, medieval stained glass windows, and splendid organ. The more I admired the cathedral, the more I found myself admiring the architects and masons who had, over the years, designed and built the whole structure. Obviously, the graceful lines had been carefully planned by experts possessing not only a knowledge of building mathematics but also an understanding of the principles behind beauty. The quality of their craftsmanship was first class in every way. My respect for these builders increased even more as I remembered that they possessed relatively few mechanical devices to facilitate their work. Thus, the superb structure of that cathedral showed something of the superb minds behind it. It could not have come into being without enormous planning and preparation.

During World War II, Cologne suffered perhaps the most intensive air bombardment of any city in Western Europe. Since the cathedral stands almost directly in the railroad station yard (which was the target of frequent heavy bombing), it was often badly hit. I well remember the sadness of seeing the cathedral again in the fall of 1946. Practically every building near it had been razed to the ground, but high above the rubble the two famous towers were still standing. From a distance, the towers still seemed to be intact, but upon coming closer, one could see huge holes in the massive masonry. Hundreds on tons of concrete and bricks had been used to plug one huge hole high up on one tower, partially replacing the masonry which had been blasted away by an aerial bomb. The roof was a shambles, the organ was ruined, and everywhere lay knee-deep piles of indescribable rubble.

This miserable picture of chaos made a deep impression on me as I thought of the earlier order and beauty. While these memories were passing through my mind, I never once connected the current condition of this formerly beautiful building with any inefficiency on the part of the constructing architects or masons. Nor did I ever begin to doubt the existence of the architects merely because their handiwork lay before my eyes in shambles.

Actually, the very rubble, the remnants of former beauty, showed how well the architects had planned the now ruined structure. The mighty flying buttresses and the graceful Gothic arches were still there. Even the bombed-out holes in the walls made it obvious how well the architects had designed everything and how expertly the masons had built it. The bombs had laid bare their work, showing how well they had done their jobs. Thus, even the very ruins were witness to the good architects' and masons' work! In some ways, the ruined structure showed even better than the intact one, the perfection of the architects' plans and construction. There was no slipshod stucco or false walls such as are found in many modern buildings. Obviously, no one could accuse the architects of having produced a ruin. In general, it is quite easy to distinguish between the ruined plan and the original plan. Although the cathedral displayed both perfection and ruin, order and chaos, it would be extremely illogical to conclude that there could have been no inventive mind or architect behind it, or that one could no longer hope to recognize any characteristics of the mind or minds behind it. This bombed cathedral brings to mind the condition of creation today. It certainly is a hopelessly mixed picture of order and chaos, beauty and ugliness, love and hate, all inextricably mixed up with one another.

But, once again, it is illogical to assume that the edifice of creation has no mind or creator behind it. This is the atheist position we mentioned above. For the atheist maintains that he sees nothing but contradiction in nature. He, therefore, rejects from his world of ideas any thought of a creator behind nature. However, we dare not forget that even the tiniest island of order in the largest sea of chaos demands a creator of that small remaining order.

It is also a mistake to assume that because of the confused picture, no characteristics of a mind behind nature can be distinguished. In fact, one can often recognize design even better in a ruin than in the intact structure (as in the case of the ruined cathedral). The study of cancer cells (a good example of the "ruination" to which living entities can easily be reduced) has laid bare many secrets of the healthy intact cell, which otherwise would not have been so easily discovered.

Therefore, although creation presents a confused picture of good and evil, it is unreasonable to conclude that no Creator exists and that it cannot reflect His character. Destruction in creation often brings out the quality of the mind behind it better than its original perfect state does.

And yet atheists and agnostics maintain that a look at the world reveals nothing concerning the mind of a Creator, simply because of the hodgepodge of good and bad, the picture of order and disorder, which confuses the issue. Romans I teaches the untenable nature of just this thesis. For the Apostle Paul maintains that illness, death, hate, and ugliness are all mere outward signs of an inward state of universal "ruin." The outward signs of ruin are easily distinguished from those of health, life, love, and beauty, which still bear testimony to the original condition of things. Even the fallen creation reveals enough of the Maker behind it to bring any intellectually honest person to his knees in thankfulness and worship. For if he sees even the smallest island of love, order, or beauty in the largest sea of hate, disorder, and despair, he must acknowledge those islands with respect and worship for the One who created them.