|
|
Blaise Pascal
Pensées
The translation is that
of W. F. Trotter (William Finlayson) and was published in New York by Harvard
Classics, 1909-1914.
[Return to book
contents page]
SECTION III
OF THE NECESSITY OF THE WAGER
184. A letter to incite to the
search after God.
And then to make people seek
Him among the philosophers, sceptics, and dogmatists, who disquiet him who
inquires of them.
185. The conduct of God, who
disposes all things kindly, is to put religion into the mind by reason, and
into the heart by grace. But to will to put it into the mind and heart by
force and threats is not to put religion there, but terror; terorrem potius
quam religionem.21
21 “Terror which is more
powerful than religion.”
186. Nisi terrerentur et non
docerentur, improba quasi dominatio videretur (St. Augustine, Epistle 48 or
49),22 Contra Mendacium ad Consentium.
22 “From fear that they are
being led by terror, without guidance, domination appears tyrannical.”
187. Order.—Men despise
religion; they hate it and fear it is true. To remedy this, we must begin by
showing that religion is not contrary to reason; that it is venerable, to
inspire respect for it; then we must make it lovable, to make good men hope
it is true; finally, we must prove it is true.
Venerable, because it has perfect
knowledge of man; lovable because it promises the true good.
188. In every dialogue and
discourse, we must be able to say to those who take offence, “Of what do you
complain?”
189. To begin by pitying
unbelievers; they are wretched enough by their condition. We ought only to
revile them where it is beneficial; but this does them harm.
190. To pity atheists who
seek, for are they not unhappy enough? To inveigh against those who make a
boast of it.
191. And will this one scoff
at the other? Who ought to scoff? And yet, the latter does not scoff at the
other, but pities him.
192. To reproach Milton with
not being troubled, since God will reproach him.
193. Quid fiet hominibus qui
minima contemnunt, majora non credunt?23
23 “What will become of men who
mistake small things and do not believe in greater?”
194. ... Let them at least
learn what is the religion they attack, before attacking it. If this religion
boasted of having a clear view of God, and of possessing it open and
unveiled, it would be attacking it to say that we see nothing in the world
which shows it with this clearness. But since, on the contrary, it says that
men are in darkness and estranged from God, that He has hidden Himself from
their knowledge, that this is in fact the name which He gives Himself in the
Scriptures, Deus absconditus;24 and finally, if it endeavours equally to establish these two
things: that God has set up in the Church visible signs to make Himself known
to those who should seek Him sincerely, and that He has nevertheless so
disguised them that He will only be perceived by those who seek Him with all
their heart; what advantage can they obtain, when, in the negligence with
which they make profession of being in search of the truth, they cry out that
nothing reveals it to them; and since that darkness in which they are, and
with which they upbraid the Church, establishes only one of the things which
she affirms, without touching the other, and, very far from destroying,
proves her doctrine?
24 Is. 45. 15. “Thou art a God
that hidest thyself.”
In order to attack it, they should
have protested that they had made every effort to seek Him everywhere, and
even in that which the Church proposes for their instruction, but without
satisfaction. If they talked in this manner, they would in truth be attacking
one of her pretensions. But I hope here to show that no reasonable person can
speak thus, and I venture even to say that no one has ever done so. We know
well enough how those who are of this mind behave. They believe they have
made great efforts for their instruction when they have spent a few hours in
reading some book of Scripture and have questioned some priests on the truths
of the faith. After that, they boast of having made vain search in books and
among men. But, verily, I will tell them what I have often said, that this negligence
is insufferable. We are not here concerned with the trifling interests of
some stranger, that we should treat it in this fashion; the matter concerns
ourselves and our all.
The immortality of the soul is
a matter which is of so great consequence to us and which touches us so
profoundly that we must have lost all feeling to be indifferent as to knowing
what it is. All our actions and thoughts must take such different courses,
according as there are or are not eternal joys to hope for, that it is impossible
to take one step with sense and judgment unless we regulate our course by our
view of this point which ought to be our ultimate end.
Thus our first interest and
our first duty is to enlighten ourselves on this subject, whereon depends all
our conduct. Therefore among those who do not believe, I make a vast
difference between those who strive with all their power to inform themselves
and those who live without troubling or thinking about it.
I can have only compassion for
those who sincerely bewail their doubt, who regard it as the greatest of
misfortunes, and who, sparing no effort to escape it, make of this inquiry
their principal and most serious occupation.
But as for those who pass
their life without thinking of this ultimate end of life, and who, for this
sole reason that they do not find within themselves the lights which convince
them of it, neglect to seek them elsewhere, and to examine thoroughly whether
this opinion is one of those which people receive with credulous simplicity,
or one of those which, although obscure in themselves, have nevertheless a
solid and immovable foundation, I look upon them in a manner quite different.
This carelessness in a matter
which concerns themselves, their eternity, their all, moves me more to anger
than pity; it astonishes and shocks me; it is to me monstrous. I do not say
this out of the pious zeal of a spiritual devotion. I expect, on the
contrary, that we ought to have this feeling from principles of human
interest and self-love; for this we need only see what the least enlightened
persons see.
We do not require great
education of the mind to understand that here is no real and lasting
satisfaction; that our pleasures are only vanity; that our evils are
infinite; and, lastly, that death, which threatens us every moment, must
infallibly place us within a few years under the dreadful necessity of being
for ever either annihilated or unhappy.
There is nothing more real
than this, nothing more terrible. Be we as heroic as we like, that is the end
which awaits the world. Let us reflect on this and then say whether it is not
beyond doubt that there is no good in this life but in the hope of another;
that we are happy only in proportion as we draw near it; and that, as there
are no more woes for those who have complete assurance of eternity, so there
is no more happiness for those who have no insight into it.
Surely then it is a great evil
thus to be in doubt, but it is at least an indispensable duty to seek when we
are in such doubt; and thus the doubter who does not seek is altogether
completely unhappy and completely wrong. And if besides this he is easy and
content, professes to be so, and indeed boasts of it; if it is this state
itself which is the subject of his joy and vanity, I have no words to
describe so silly a creature.
How can people hold these
opinions? What joy can we find in the expectation of nothing but hopeless
misery? What reason for boasting that we are in impenetrable darkness? And
how can it happen that the following argument occurs to a reasonable man?
“I know not who put me into
the world, nor what the world is, nor what I myself am. I am in terrible
ignorance of everything. I know not what my body is, nor my senses, nor my
soul, not even that part of me which thinks what I say, which reflects on all
and on itself, and knows itself no more than the rest. I see those frightful
spaces of the universe which surround me, and I find myself tied to one
corner of this vast expanse, without knowing why I am put in this place
rather than in another, nor why the short time which is given me to live is
assigned to me at this point rather than at another of the whole eternity
which was before me or which shall come after me. I see nothing but infinites
on all sides, which surround me as an atom and as a shadow which endures only
for an instant and returns no more. All I know is that I must soon die, but
what I know least is this very death which I cannot escape.
“As I know not whence I come,
so I know not whither I go. I know only that, in leaving this world, I fall
for ever either into annihilation or into the hands of an angry God, without
knowing to which of these two states I shall be for ever assigned. Such is my
state, full of weakness and uncertainty. And from all this I conclude that I
ought to spend all the days of my life without caring to inquire into what
must happen to me. Perhaps I might find some solution to my doubts, but I
will not take the trouble, nor take a step to seek it; and after treating
with scorn those who are concerned with this care, I will go without
foresight and without fear to try the great event, and let myself be led
carelessly to death, uncertain of the eternity of my future state.”
Who would desire to have for a
friend a man who talks in this fashion? Who would choose him out from others
to tell him of his affairs? Who would have recourse to him in affliction? And
indeed to what use in life could one put him?
In truth, it is the glory of
religion to have for enemies men so unreasonable; and their opposition to it
is so little dangerous that it serves, on the contrary, to establish its
truths. For the Christian faith goes mainly to establish these two facts: the
corruption of nature, and redemption by Jesus Christ. Now I contend that, if
these men do not serve to prove the truth of the redemption by the holiness
of their behaviour, they at least serve admirably to show the corruption of
nature by sentiments so unnatural.
Nothing is so important to man
as his own state, nothing is so formidable to him as eternity; and thus it is
not natural that there should be men indifferent to the loss of their
existence, and to the perils of everlasting suffering. They are quite
different with regard to all other things. They are afraid of mere trifles;
they foresee them; they feel them. And this same man who spends so many days
and nights in rage and despair for the loss of office, or for some imaginary
insult to his honour, is the very one who knows without anxiety and without
emotion that he will lose all by death. It is a monstrous thing to see in the
same heart and at the same time this sensibility to trifles and this strange
insensibility to the greatest objects. It is an incomprehensible enchantment,
and a supernatural slumber, which indicates as its cause an all-powerful force.
There must be a strange
confusion in the nature of man, that he should boast of being in that state
in which it seems incredible that a single individual should be. However,
experience has shown me so great a number of such persons that the fact would
be surprising, if we did not know that the greater part of those who trouble
themselves about the matter are disingenuous and not, in fact, what they say.
They are people who have heard it said that it is the fashion to be thus
daring. It is what they call “shaking off the yoke,” and they try to imitate
this. But it would not be difficult to make them understand how greatly they
deceive themselves in thus seeking esteem. This is not the way to gain it,
even I say among those men of the world who take a healthy view of things and
who know that the only way to succeed in this life is to make ourselves
appear honourable, faithful, judicious, and capable of useful service to a
friend; because naturally men love only what may be useful to them. Now, what
do we gain by hearing it said of a man that he has now thrown off the yoke,
that he does not believe there is a God who watches our actions, that he
considers himself the sole master of his conduct, and that he thinks he is
accountable for it only to himself.? Does he think that he has thus brought
us to have henceforth complete confidence in him and to look to him for
consolation, advice, and help in every need of life? Do they profess to have
delighted us by telling us that they hold our soul to be only a little wind
and smoke, especially by telling us this in a haughty and self-satisfied tone
of voice? Is this a thing to say gaily? Is it not, on the contrary, a thing
to say sadly, as the saddest thing in the world?
If they thought of it
seriously, they would see that this is so bad a mistake, so contrary to good
sense, so opposed to decency, and so removed in every respect from that good
breeding which they seek, that they would be more likely to correct than to
pervert those who had an inclination to follow them. And, indeed, make them
give an account of their opinions, and of the reasons which they have for
doubting religion, and they will say to you things so feeble and so petty,
that they persuade you of the contrary. The following is what a person one
day said to such a one very appositely: “If you continue to talk in this
manner, you will really make me religious.” And he was right, for who would
not have a horror of holding opinions in which he would have such
contemptible persons as companions!
Thus those who only feign
these opinions would be very unhappy, if they restrained their natural
feelings in order to make themselves the most conceited of men. If, at the
bottom of their heart, they are troubled at not having more light, let them
not disguise the fact; this avowal will not be shameful. The only shame is to
have none. Nothing reveals more an extreme weakness of mind than not to know
the misery of a godless man. Nothing is more indicative of a bad disposition
of heart than not to desire the truth of eternal promises. Nothing is more
dastardly than to act with bravado before God. Let them then leave these
impieties to those who are sufficiently ill-bred to be really capable of
them. Let them at least be honest men, if they cannot be Christians. Finally,
let them recognise that there are two kinds of people one can call
reasonable; those who serve God with all their heart because they know Him,
and those who seek Him with all their heart because they do not know Him.
But as for those who live
without knowing Him and without seeking Him, they judge themselves so little
worthy of their own care, that they are not worthy of the care of others; and
it needs all the charity of the religion which they despise, not to despise
them even to the point of leaving them to their folly. But because this
religion obliges us always to regard them, so long as they are in this life,
as capable of the grace which can enlighten them, and to believe that they
may, in a little time, be more replenished with faith than we are, and that,
on the other hand, we may fall into the blindness wherein they are, we must
do for them what we would they should do for us if we were in their place,
and call upon them to have pity upon themselves, and to take at least some
steps in the endeavour to find light. Let them give to reading this some of
the hours which they otherwise employ so uselessly; whatever aversion they
may bring to the task, they will perhaps gain something, and at least will
not lose much. But as for those who bring to the task perfect sincerity and a
real desire to meet with truth, those I hope will be satisfied and convinced
of the proofs of a religion so divine, which I have here collected, and in
which I have followed somewhat after this order...
195. Before entering into the
proofs of the Christian religion, I find it necessary to point out the
sinfulness of those men who live in indifference to the search for truth in a
matter which is so important to them, and which touches them so nearly.
Of all their errors, this
doubtless is the one which most convicts them of foolishness and blindness,
and in which it is easiest to confound them by the first glimmerings of
common sense and by natural feelings.
For it is not to be doubted
that the duration of this life is but a moment; that the state of death is
eternal, whatever may be its nature; and that thus all our actions and
thoughts must take such different directions, according to the state of that
eternity, that it is impossible to take one step with sense and judgement,
unless we regulate our course by the truth of that point which ought to be
our ultimate end.
There is nothing clearer than
this; and thus, according to the principles of reason, the conduct of men is
wholly unreasonable, if they do not take another course.
On this point, therefore, we
condemn those who live without thought of the ultimate end of life, who let
themselves be guided by their own inclinations and their own pleasures
without reflection and without concern, and, as if they could annihilate
eternity by turning away their thought from it, think only of making
themselves happy for the moment.
Yet this eternity exists, and
death, which must open into it and threatens them every hour, must in a
little time infallibly put them under the dreadful necessity of being either
annihilated or unhappy for ever, without knowing which of these eternities is
for ever prepared for them.
This is a doubt of terrible
consequence. They are in peril of eternal woe and thereupon, as if the matter
were not worth the trouble, they neglect to inquire whether this is one of
those opinions which people receive with too credulous a facility, or one of
those which, obscure in themselves, have a very firm, though hidden,
foundation. Thus they know not whether there be truth or falsity in the
matter, nor whether there be strength or weakness in the proofs. They have
them before their eyes; they refuse to look at them; and in that ignorance
they choose all that is necessary to fall into this misfortune if it exists,
to await death to make trial of it, yet to be very content in this state, to
make profession of it, and indeed to boast of it. Can we think seriously of
the importance of this subject without being horrified at conduct so
extravagant?
This resting in ignorance is a
monstrous thing, and they who pass their life in it must be made to feel its
extravagance and stupidity, by having it shown to them, so that they may be
confounded by the sight of their folly. For this is how men reason, when they
choose to live in such ignorance of what they are and without seeking
enlightenment. “I know not,” they say...
196. Men lack heart; they
would not make a friend of it.
197. To be insensible to the
extent of despising interesting things, and to become insensible to the point
which interests us most.
198. The sensibility of man to
trifles, and his insensibility to great things, indicates a strange
inversion.
199. Let us imagine a number
of men in chains and all condemned to death, where some are killed each day
in the sight of the others, and those who remain see their own fate in that
of their fellows and wait their turn, looking at each other sorrowfully and
without hope. It is an image of the condition of men.
200. A man in a dungeon,
ignorant whether his sentence be pronounced and having only one hour to learn
it, but this hour enough, if he knew that it is pronounced, to obtain its
repeal, would act unnaturally in spending that hour, not in ascertaining his
sentence, but in playing piquet. So it is against nature that man, etc. It is
making heavy the hand of God.
Thus not only the zeal of
those who seek Him proves God, but also the blindness of those who seek Him
not.
201. All the objections of
this one and that one only go against themselves, and not against religion.
All that infidels say ...
202. From those who are in
despair at being without faith, we see that God does not enlighten them; but
as to the rest, we see there is a God who makes them blind.
203. Fascinatio nugacitatis.25 — That passion may not harm
us, let us act as if we had only eight hours to live.
25 Wisd. of Sol. 4. 12.
“Bewitching of naughtiness.”
204. If we ought to devote
eight hours of life, we ought to devote a hundred years.
205. When I consider the short
duration of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and after, the
little space which I fill and even can see, engulfed in the infinite
immensity of spaces of which I am ignorant and which know me not, I am
frightened and am astonished at being here rather than there; for there is no
reason why here rather than there, why now rather than then. Who has put me
here? By whose order and direction have this place and time been allotted to
me? Memoria hospitis unius diei praetereuntis.26
26 Wisd. of Sol. 5. 15. “The
remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day.”
206. The eternal silence of
these infinite spaces frightens me.
207. How many kingdoms know us
not!
208. Why is my knowledge
limited? Why my stature? Why my life to one hundred years rather than to a
thousand? What reason has nature had for giving me such, and for choosing
this number rather than another in the infinity of those from which there is
no more reason to choose one than another, trying nothing else?
209. Art thou less a slave by
being loved and favoured by thy master? Thou art indeed well off, slave. Thy
master favours thee; he will soon beat thee.
210. The last act is tragic,
however happy all the rest of the play is; at the last a little earth is
thrown upon our head, and that is the end for ever.
211. We are fools to depend
upon the society of our fellow-men. Wretched as we are, powerless as we are,
they will not aid us; we shall die alone. We should therefore act as if we
were alone, and in that case should we build fine houses, etc. We should seek
the truth without hesitation; and, if we refuse it, we show that we value the
esteem of men more than the search for truth.
212. Instability.—It is a
horrible thing to feel all that we possess slipping away.
213. Between us and heaven or
hell there is only life, which is the frailest thing in the world.
214. Injustice.—That
presumption should be joined to meanness is extreme injustice.
215. To fear death without
danger, and not in danger, for one must be a man.
216. Sudden death alone is
feared; hence confessors stay with lords.
217. An heir finds the
title-deeds of his house. Will he say, “Perhaps they are forged” and neglect
to examine them?
218. Dungeon.—I approve of not
examining the opinion of Copernicus; but this...! It concerns all our life to
know whether the soul be mortal or immortal.
219. It is certain that the
mortality or immortality of the soul must make an entire difference to
morality. And yet philosophers have constructed their ethics independently of
this: they discuss to pass an hour.
Plato, to incline to
Christianity.
220. The fallacy of
philosophers who have not discussed the immortality of the soul. The fallacy
of their dilemma in Montaigne.
221. Atheists ought to say
what is perfectly evident; now it is not perfectly evident that the soul is
material.
222. Atheists.—What reason
have they for saying that we cannot rise from the dead? What is more
difficult, to be born or to rise again; that what has never been should be,
or that what has been should be again? Is it more difficult to come into
existence than to return to it? Habit makes the one appear easy to us; want
of habit makes the other impossible. A popular way of thinking!
Why cannot a virgin bear a
child? Does a hen not lay eggs without a cock? What distinguishes these
outwardly from others? And who has told us that the hen may not form the germ
as well as the cock?
223. What have they to say
against the resurrection, and against the child-bearing of the Virgin? Which
is the more difficult, to produce a man or an animal, or to reproduce it? And
if they had never seen any species of animals, could they have conjectured
whether they were produced without connection with each other?
224. How I hate these follies
of not believing in the Eucharist, etc.! If the Gospel be true, if Jesus
Christ be God, what difficulty is there?
225. Atheism shows strength of
mind, but only to a certain degree.
226. Infidels, who profess to
follow reason, ought to be exceedingly strong in reason. What say they then?
“Do we not see,” say they, “that the brutes live and die like men, and Turks
like Christians? They have their ceremonies, their prophets, their doctors, their
saints, their monks, like us,” etc. (Is this contrary to Scripture? Does it
not say all this?)
If you care but little to know
the truth, here is enough of it to leave you in repose. But if you desire
with all your heart to know it, it is not enough; look at it in detail. This
would be sufficient for a question in philosophy; but not here, where it
concerns your all. And yet, after a trifling reflection of this kind, we go
to amuse ourselves, etc. Let us inquire of this same religion whether it does
not give a reason for this obscurity; perhaps it will teach it to us.
227. Order by dialogues.—What
ought I to do? I see only darkness
everywhere. Shall I believe I am nothing? Shall I believe I am God?
“All things change and succeed
each other.” You are mistaken; there is...
228. Objection of atheists:
“But we have no light.”
229. This is what I see and
what troubles me. I look on all sides, and I see only darkness everywhere.
Nature presents to me nothing which is not matter of doubt and concern. If I
saw nothing there which revealed a Divinity, I would come to a negative
conclusion; if I saw everywhere the signs of a Creator, I would remain
peacefully in faith. But, seeing too much to deny and too little to be sure,
I am in a state to be pitied; wherefore I have a hundred times wished that if
a God maintains Nature, she should testify to Him unequivocally, and that, if
the signs she gives are deceptive, she should suppress them altogether; that
she should say everything or nothing, that I might see which cause I ought to
follow. Whereas in my present state, ignorant of what I am or of what I ought
to do, I know neither my condition nor my duty. My heart inclines wholly to
know where is the true good, in order to follow it; nothing would be too dear
to me for eternity.
I envy those whom I see living
in the faith with such carelessness and who make such a bad use of a gift of
which it seems to me I would make such a different use.
230. It is incomprehensible
that God should exist, and it is incomprehensible that He should not exist;
that the soul should be joined to the body, and that we should have no soul;
that the world should be created, and that it should not be created, etc.;
that original sin should be, and that it should not be.
231. Do you believe it to be
impossible that God is infinite, without parts? Yes. I wish therefore to show
you an infinite and indivisible thing. It is a point moving everywhere with
an infinite velocity; for it is one in all places and is all totality in
every place.
Let this effect of nature,
which previously seemed to you impossible, make you know that there may be
others of which you are still ignorant. Do not draw this conclusion from your
experiment, that there remains nothing for you to know; but rather that there
remains an infinity for you to know.
232. Infinite movement, the
point which fills everything, the moment of rest; infinite without quantity,
indivisible and infinite.
233. Infinite—nothing.—Our
soul is cast into a body, where it finds number, dimension. Thereupon it
reasons, and calls this nature necessity, and can believe nothing else.
Unity joined to infinity adds
nothing to it, no more than one foot to an infinite measure. The finite is
annihilated in the presence of the infinite, and becomes a pure nothing. So
our spirit before God, so our justice before divine justice. There is not so
great a disproportion between our justice and that of God as between unity
and infinity.
The justice of God must be
vast like His compassion. Now justice to the outcast is less vast and ought
less to offend our feelings than mercy towards the elect.
We know that there is an
infinite, and are ignorant of its nature. As we know it to be false that
numbers are finite, it is therefore true that there is an infinity in number.
But we do not know what it is. It is false that it is even, it is false that
it is odd; for the addition of a unit can make no change in its nature. Yet
it is a number, and every number is odd or even (this is certainly true of
every finite number). So we may well know that there is a God without knowing
what He is. Is there not one substantial truth, seeing there are so many
things which are not the truth itself?
We know then the existence and
nature of the finite, because we also are finite and have extension. We know
the existence of the infinite and are ignorant of its nature, because it has
extension like us, but not limits like us. But we know neither the existence
nor the nature of God, because He has neither extension nor limits.
But by faith we know His existence;
in glory we shall know His nature. Now, I have already shown that we may well
know the existence of a thing, without knowing its nature.
Let us now speak according to
natural lights.
If there is a God, He is
infinitely incomprehensible, since, having neither parts nor limits, He has
no affinity to us. We are then incapable of knowing either what He is or if
He is. This being so, who will dare to undertake the decision of the
question? Not we, who have no affinity to Him.
Who then will blame Christians
for not being able to give a reason for their belief, since they profess a
religion for which they cannot give a reason? They declare, in expounding it
to the world, that it is a foolishness, stultitiam;27 and then you complain that
they do not prove it! If they proved it, they would not keep their word; it
is in lacking proofs that they are not lacking in sense. “Yes, but although
this excuses those who offer it as such and takes away from them the blame of
putting it forward without reason, it does not excuse those who receive it.”
Let us then examine this point, and say, “God is, or He is not.” But to which
side shall we incline? Reason can decide nothing here. There is an infinite
chaos which separated us. A game is being played at the extremity of this
infinite distance where heads or tails will turn up. What will you wager?
According to reason, you can do neither the one thing nor the other;
according to reason, you can defend neither of the propositions.
Do not, then, reprove for
error those who have made a choice; for you know nothing about it. “No, but I
blame them for having made, not this choice, but a choice; for again both he
who chooses heads and he who chooses tails are equally at fault, they are
both in the wrong. The true course is not to wager at all.”
Yes; but you must wager. It is
not optional. You are embarked. Which will you choose then? Let us see. Since
you must choose, let us see which interests you least. You have two things to
lose, the true and the good; and two things to stake, your reason and your
will, your knowledge and your happiness; and your nature has two things to
shun, error and misery. Your reason is no more shocked in choosing one rather
than the other, since you must of necessity choose. This is one point
settled. But your happiness? Let us weigh the gain and the loss in wagering
that God is. Let us estimate these two chances. If you gain, you gain all; if
you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation that He is. “That
is very fine. Yes, I must wager; but I may perhaps wager too much.” Let us
see. Since there is an equal risk of gain and of loss, if you had only to
gain two lives, instead of one, you might still wager. But if there were
three lives to gain, you would have to play (since you are under the
necessity of playing), and you would be imprudent, when you are forced to
play, not to chance your life to gain three at a game where there is an equal
risk of loss and gain. But there is an eternity of life and happiness. And
this being so, if there were an infinity of chances, of which one only would
be for you, you would still be right in wagering one to win two, and you
would act stupidly, being obliged to play, by refusing to stake one life
against three at a game in which out of an infinity of chances there is one
for you, if there were an infinity of an infinitely happy life to gain. But
there is here an infinity of an infinitely happy life to gain, a chance of
gain against a finite number of chances of loss, and what you stake is
finite. It is all divided; where-ever the infinite is and there is not an
infinity of chances of loss against that of gain, there is no time to
hesitate, you must give all. And thus, when one is forced to play, he must
renounce reason to preserve his life, rather than risk it for infinite gain,
as likely to happen as the loss of nothingness.
For it is no use to say it is
uncertain if we will gain, and it is certain that we risk, and that the
infinite distance between the certainly of what is staked and the uncertainty
of what will be gained, equals the finite good which is certainly staked
against the uncertain infinite. It is not so, as every player stakes a
certainty to gain an uncertainty, and yet he stakes a finite certainty to
gain a finite uncertainty, without transgressing against reason. There is not
an infinite distance between the certainty staked and the uncertainty of the
gain; that is untrue. In truth, there is an infinity between the certainty of
gain and the certainty of loss. But the uncertainty of the gain is
proportioned to the certainty of the stake according to the proportion of the
chances of gain and loss. Hence it comes that, if there are as many risks on
one side as on the other, the course is to play even; and then the certainty
of the stake is equal to the uncertainty of the gain, so far is it from fact
that there is an infinite distance between them. And so our proposition is of
infinite force, when there is the finite to stake in a game where there are
equal risks of gain and of loss, and the infinite to gain. This is
demonstrable; and if men are capable of any truths, this is one.
“I confess it, I admit it.
But, still, is there no means of seeing the faces of the cards?” Yes,
Scripture and the rest, etc. “Yes, but I have my hands tied and my mouth
closed; I am forced to wager, and am not free. I am not released, and am so
made that I cannot believe. What, then, would you have me do?”
True. But at least learn your
inability to believe, since reason brings you to this, and yet you cannot
believe. Endeavour, then, to convince yourself, not by increase of proofs of
God, but by the abatement of your passions. You would like to attain faith
and do not know the way; you would like to cure yourself of unbelief and ask
the remedy for it. Learn of those who have been bound like you, and who now
stake all their possessions. These are people who know the way which you
would follow, and who are cured of an ill of which you would be cured. Follow
the way by which they began; by acting as if they believed, taking the holy
water, having masses said, etc. Even this will naturally make you believe,
and deaden your acuteness. “But this is what I am afraid of.” And why? What
have you to lose?
But to show you that this
leads you there, it is this which will lessen the passions, which are your
stumbling-blocks.
The end of this
discourse.—Now, what harm will befall you in taking this side? You will be
faithful, humble, grateful, generous, a sincere friend, truthful. Certainly
you will not have those poisonous pleasures, glory and luxury; but will you
not have others? I will tell you that you will thereby gain in this life, and
that, at each step you take on this road, you will see so great certainty of
gain, so much nothingness in what you risk, that you will at last recognise
that you have wagered for something certain and infinite, for which you have
given nothing.
“Ah! This discourse transports
me, charms me,” etc.
If this discourse pleases you
and seems impressive, know that it is made by a man who has knelt, both
before and after it, in prayer to that Being, infinite and without parts,
before whom he lays all he has, for you also to lay before Him all you have
for your own good and for His glory, that so strength may be given to
lowliness.
234. If we must not act save
on a certainty, we ought not to act on religion, for it is not certain. But
how many things we do on an uncertainty, sea voyages, battles! I say then we
must do nothing at all, for nothing is certain, and that there is more
certainty in religion than there is as to whether we may see to-morrow; for
it is not certain that we may see to-morrow, and it is certainly possible
that we may not, see it. We cannot say as much about religion. It is not
certain that it is; but who will venture to say that it is certainly possible
that it is not? Now when we work for to-morrow, and so on an uncertainty, we
act reasonably; for we ought to work for an uncertainty according to the
doctrine of chance which was demonstrated above.
Saint Augustine has seen that
we work for an uncertainty, on sea, in battle, etc. But he has not seen the
doctrine of chance which proves that we should do so. Montaigne has seen that
we are shocked at a fool, and that habit is all-powerful; but he has not seen
the reason of this effect.
All these persons have seen
the effects, but they have not seen the causes. They are, in comparison with
those who have discovered the causes, as those who have only eyes are in
comparison with those who have intellect. For the effects are perceptible by
sense, and the causes are visible only to the intellect. And although these
effects are seen by the mind, this mind is, in comparison with the mind which
sees the causes, as the bodily senses are in comparison with the intellect.
235. Rem viderunt, causam non
viderunt.28
28 “They have seen the thing;
they have not seen the cause.” St. Augustine, Contra Pelagium, iv.
236. According to the doctrine
of chance, you ought to put yourself to the trouble of searching for the
truth; for if you die without worshipping the True Cause, you are lost.
“But,” say you, “if He had wished me to worship Him, He would have left me
signs of His will.” He has done so; but you neglect them. Seek them,
therefore; it is well worth it.
237. Chances.—We must live
differently in the world, according to these different assumptions: (1) that
we could always remain in it; (2) that it is certain that we shall not remain
here long, and uncertain if we shall remain here one hour. This last
assumption is our condition.
238. What do you then promise
me, in addition to certain troubles, but ten years of self-love (for ten
years is the chance), to try hard to please without success?
239. Objection.—Those who hope
for salvation are so far happy; but they have as a counterpoise the fear of
hell.
Reply.—Who has most reason to
fear hell: he who is in ignorance whether there is a hell, and who is certain
of damnation if there is; or he who certainly believes there is a hell and
hopes to be saved if there is?
240. “I would soon have
renounced pleasure,” say they, “had I faith.” For my part I tell you, “You
would soon have faith, if you renounced pleasure.” Now, it is for you to
begin. If I could, I would give you faith. I cannot do so, nor therefore test
the truth of what you say. But you can well renounce pleasure and test
whether what I say is true.
241.
Order.—I would have far more fear of being mistaken, and of finding that the
Christian religion was true, than of not being mistaken in believing it true.
|
Blaise
Pascal
|