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Blaise Pascal The Provincial Letters The translation is that
of Rev. Dr. Thomas M’Crie D.D., Professor of Divinity, Edinburgh and was published
in New York by Robert Carter & Brothers, 1853. [Return
to book contents page] Letter I
Paris, January 23, 1656 SIR, We were entirely mistaken. It
was only yesterday that I was undeceived. Until that time I had laboured
under the impression that the disputes in the Sorbonne were vastly important,
and deeply affected the interests of religion. The frequent convocations of
an assembly so illustrious as that of the Theological Faculty of Paris,
attended by so many extraordinary and unprecedented circumstances, led one to
form such high expectations that it was impossible to help coming to the
conclusion that the subject was most extraordinary. You will be greatly
surprised, however, when you learn from the following account the issue of
this grand demonstration, which, having made myself perfectly master of the
subject, I shall be able to tell you in very few words. Two questions, then, were
brought under examination; the one a question of fact, the other a question
of right. The question of fact consisted
in ascertaining whether M. Arnauld was guilty of presumption, for having
asserted in his second letter that he had carefully perused the book of
Jansenius, and that he had not discovered the propositions condemned by the
late pope; but that, nevertheless, as he condemned these propositions
wherever they might occur, he condemned them in Jansenius, if they were
really contained in that work. The question here was, if he
could, without presumption, entertain a doubt that these propositions were in
Jansenius, after the bishops had declared that they were. The matter having been brought
before the Sorbonne, seventy-one doctors undertook his defence, maintaining that
the only reply he could possibly give to the demands made upon him in so many
publications, calling on him to say if he held that these propositions were
in that book, was that he had not been able to find them, but that if they
were in the book, he condemned them in the book. Some even went a step farther
and protested that, after all the search they had made into the book, they
had never stumbled upon these propositions, and that they had, on the
contrary, found sentiments entirely at variance with them. They then
earnestly begged that, if any doctor present had discovered them, he would
have the goodness to point them out; adding that what was so easy could not
reasonably be refused, as this would be the surest way to silence the whole
of them, M. Arnauld included; but this proposal has been uniformly declined.
So much for the one side. On the other side are eighty
secular doctors and some forty mendicant friars, who have condemned M.
Arnauld’s proposition, without choosing to examine whether he has spoken
truly or falsely—who, in fact, have declared that they have nothing to do
with the veracity of his proposition, but simply with its temerity. Besides these, there were
fifteen who were not in favor of the censure, and who are called Neutrals. Such was the issue of the
question of fact, regarding which, I must say, I give myself very little
concern. It does not affect my conscience in the least whether M. Arnauld is
presumptuous or the reverse; and should I be tempted, from curiosity, to
ascertain whether these propositions are contained in Jansenius, his book is
neither so very rare nor so very large as to hinder me from reading it over
from beginning to end, for my own satisfaction, without consulting the
Sorbonne on the matter. Were it not, however, for the
dread of being presumptuous myself, I really think that I would be disposed
to adopt the opinion which has been formed by the most of my acquaintances,
who, though they have believed hitherto on common report that the
propositions were in Jansenius, begin now to suspect the contrary, owing to
this strange refusal to point them out—a refusal the more extraordinary to me
as I have not yet met with a single individual who can say that he has
discovered them in that work. I am afraid, therefore, that this censure will
do more harm than good, and that the impression which it will leave on the
minds of all who know its history will be just the reverse of the conclusion
that has been come to. The truth is the world has become sceptical of late
and will not believe things till it sees them. But, as I said before, this
point is of very little moment, as it has no concern with religion. The question of right, from
its affecting the faith, appears much more important, and, accordingly, I
took particular pains in examining it. You will be relieved, however, to find
that it is of as little consequence as the former. The point of dispute here was
an assertion of M. Arnauld’s in the same letter, to the effect “that the
grace, without which we can do nothing, was wanting to St. Peter at his
fall.” You and I supposed that the controversy here would turn upon the great
principles of grace; such as whether grace is given to all men? Or if it is
efficacious of itself? But we were quite mistaken. You must know I have
become a great theologian within this short time; and now for the proofs of
it! To ascertain the matter with
certainty, I repaired to my neighbor, M. N-, doctor of Navarre, who, as you
are aware, is one of the keenest opponents of the Jansenists, and, my curiosity
having made me almost as keen as himself, I asked him if they would not
formally decide at once that “grace is given to all men,” and thus set the
question at rest. But he gave me a sore rebuff and told me that that was not
the point; that there were some of his party who held that grace was not
given to all; that the examiners themselves had declared, in a full assembly
of the Sorbonne, that that opinion was problematical; and that he himself
held the same sentiment, which he confirmed by quoting to me what he called
that celebrated passage of St. Augustine: “We know that grace is not given to
all men.” I apologized for having
misapprehended his sentiment and requested him to say if they would not at
least condemn that other opinion of the Jansenists which is making so much
noise: “That grace is efficacious of itself, and invincibly determines our
will to what is good.” But in this second query I was equally unfortunate.
“You know nothing about the matter,” he said; “that is not a heresy—it is an
orthodox opinion; all the Thomists maintain it; and I myself have defended it
in my Sorbonic thesis.” I did not venture again to
propose my doubts, and yet I was as far as ever from understanding where the
difficulty lay; so, at last, in order to get at it, I begged him to tell me
where, then, lay the heresy of M. Arnauld’s proposition. “It lies here,” said
he, “that he does not acknowledge that the righteous have the power of
obeying the commandments of God, in the manner in which we understand it.” On receiving this piece of
information, I took my leave of him; and, quite proud at having discovered
the knot of the question, I sought M. N-, who is gradually getting better and
was sufficiently recovered to conduct me to the house of his brother-in-law,
who is a Jansenist, if ever there was one, but a very good man
notwithstanding. Thinking to insure myself a better reception, I pretended to
be very high on what I took to be his side, and said: “Is it possible that
the Sorbonne has introduced into the Church such an error as this, ‘that all
the righteous have always the power of obeying the commandments of God?’” “What say you?” replied the
doctor. “Call you that an error—a sentiment so Catholic that none but
Lutherans and Calvinists impugn it?” “Indeed!” said I, surprised in
my turn; “so you are not of their opinion?” “No,” he replied; “we
anathematize it as heretical and impious.” Confounded by this reply, I
soon discovered that I had overacted the Jansenist, as I had formerly
overdone the Molinist. But, not being sure if I had rightly understood him, I
requested him to tell me frankly if he held “that the righteous have always a
real power to observe the divine precepts?” Upon this, the good man got warm
(but it was with a holy zeal) and protested that he would not disguise his
sentiments on any consideration—that such was, indeed, his belief, and that
he and all his party would defend it to the death, as the pure doctrine of
St. Thomas, and of St. Augustine their master. This was spoken so seriously
as to leave me no room for doubt; and under this impression I returned to my
first doctor and said to him, with an air of great satisfaction, that I was
sure there would be peace in the Sorbonne very soon; that the Jansenists were
quite at one with them in reference to the power of the righteous to obey the
commandments of God; that I could pledge my word for them and could make them
seal it with their blood. “Hold there!” said he. “One
must be a theologian to see the point of this question. The difference
between us is so subtle that it is with some difficulty we can discern it
ourselves—you will find it rather too much for your powers of comprehension.
Content yourself, then, with knowing that it is very true the Jansenists will
tell you that all the righteous have always the power of obeying the
commandments; that is not the point in dispute between us; but mark you, they
will not tell you that that power is proximate. That is the point.” This was a new and unknown
word to me. Up to this moment I had managed to understand matters, but that
term involved me in obscurity; and I verily believe that it has been invented
for no other purpose than to mystify. I requested him to give me an
explanation of it, but he made a mystery of it, and sent me back, without any
further satisfaction, to demand of the Jansenists if they would admit this
proximate power. Having charged my memory with the phrase (as to my
understanding, that was out of the question), I hastened with all possible
expedition, fearing that I might forget it, to my Jansenist friend and
accosted him, immediately after our first salutations, with: “Tell me, pray,
if you admit the proximate power?” He smiled, and replied, coldly: “Tell me
yourself in what sense you understand it, and I may then inform you what I think
of it.” As my knowledge did not extend quite so far, I was at a loss what
reply to make; and yet, rather than lose the object of my visit, I said at
random: “Why, I understand it in the sense of the Molinists.” “To which of
the Molinists do you refer me?” replied he, with the utmost coolness. I
referred him to the whole of them together, as forming one body, and animated
by one spirit. “You know very little about
the matter,” returned he. “So far are they from being united in sentiment
that some of them are diametrically opposed to each other. But, being all
united in the design to ruin M. Arnauld, they have resolved to agree on this
term proximate, which both parties might use indiscriminately, though they
understand it diversely, that thus, by a similarity of language and an
apparent conformity, they may form a large body and get up a majority to
crush him with the greater certainty.” This reply filled me with
amazement; but, without imbibing these impressions of the malicious designs
of the Molinists, which I am unwilling to believe on his word, and with which
I have no concern, I set myself simply to ascertain the various senses which
they give to that mysterious word proximate. “I would enlighten you on the
subject with all my heart,” he said; “but you would discover in it such a
mass of contrariety and contradiction that you would hardly believe me. You
would suspect me. To make sure of the matter, you had better learn it from
some of themselves; and I shall give you some of their addresses. You have only
to make a separate visit to one called M. le Moine and to Father Nicolai.” “I have no acquaintance with
any of these persons,” said I. “Let me see, then,” he
replied, “if you know any of those whom I shall name to you; they all agree
in sentiment with M. le Moine.” I happened, in fact, to know
some of them. “Well, let us see if you are
acquainted with any of the Dominicans whom they call the ‘New Thomists,’ for
they are all the same with Father Nicolai.” I knew some of them also whom
he named; and, resolved to profit by this council and to investigate the
matter, I took my leave of him and went immediately to one of the disciples
of M. le Moine. I begged him to inform me what it was to have the proximate
power of doing a thing. “It is easy to tell you that,
“ he replied; “it is merely to have all that is necessary for doing it in
such a manner that nothing is wanting to performance.” “And so,” said I, “to have the
proximate power of crossing a river, for example, is to have a boat, boatmen,
oars, and all the rest, so that nothing is wanting?” “Exactly so,” said the monk. “And to have the proximate
power of seeing,” continued I, “must be to have good eyes and the light of
day; for a person with good sight in the dark would not have the proximate
power of seeing, according to you, as he would want the light, without which
one cannot see?” “Precisely,” said he. “And consequently,” returned
I, “when you say that all the righteous have the proximate power of observing
the commandments of God, you mean that they have always all the grace
necessary for observing them, so that nothing is wanting to them on the part
of God.” “Stay there,” he replied;
“they have always all that is necessary for observing the commandments, or at
least for asking it of God.” “I understand you,” said I;
“they have all that is necessary for praying to God to assist them, without
requiring any new grace from God to enable them to pray.” “You have it now,” he
rejoined. “But is it not necessary that
they have an efficacious grace, in order to pray to God?” “No,” said he; “not according
to M. le Moine.” To lose no time, I went to the
Jacobins, and requested an interview with some whom I knew to be New
Thomists, and I begged them to tell me what proximate power was. “Is it not,”
said I, “that power to which nothing is wanting in order to act?” “No,” said they. “Indeed! fathers,” said I; “if
anything is wanting to that power, do you call it proximate? Would you say,
for instance, that a man in the night-time, and without any light, had the
proximate power of seeing?” “Yes, indeed, he would have
it, in our opinion, if he is not blind.” “I grant that,” said I; “but
M. le Moine understands it in a different manner.” “Very true,” they replied;
“but so it is that we understand it.” “I have no objections to
that,” I said; “for I never quarrel about a name, provided I am apprised of
the sense in which it is understood. But I perceive from this that, when you
speak of the righteous having always the proximate power of praying to God,
you understand that they require another supply for praying, without which
they will never pray.” “Most excellent!” exclaimed
the good fathers, embracing me; “exactly the thing; for they must have,
besides, an efficacious grace bestowed upon all, and which determines their
wills to pray; and it is heresy to deny the necessity of that efficacious
grace in order to pray.” “Most excellent!” cried I, in
return; “but, according to you, the Jansenists are Catholics, and M. le Moine
a heretic; for the Jansenists maintain that, while the righteous have power
to pray, they require nevertheless an efficacious grace; and this is what you
approve. M. le Moine, again, maintains that the righteous may pray without
efficacious grace; and this is what you condemn.” “Ay,” said they; “but M. le
Moine calls that power ‘proximate power.’” “How now! fathers,” I
exclaimed; “this is merely playing with words, to say that you are agreed as
to the common terms which you employ, while you differ with them as to the
sense of these terms.” The fathers made no reply; and
at this juncture, who should come in but my old friend, the disciple of M. le
Moine! I regarded this at the time as an extraordinary piece of good fortune;
but I have discovered since then that such meetings are not rare—that, in fact,
they are constantly mixing in each other’s society. “I know a man,” said I,
addressing myself to M. le Moine’s disciple, “who holds that all the
righteous have always the power of praying to God, but that, notwithstanding
this, they will never pray without an efficacious grace which determines
them, and which God does not always give to all the righteous. Is he a
heretic?” “Stay,” said the doctor; “you
might take me by surprise. Let us go cautiously to work. Distinguo. If he
call that power proximate power, he will be a Thomist, and therefore a
Catholic; if not, he will be a Jansenist and, therefore, a heretic.” “He calls it neither proximate
nor non-proximate,” said I. “Then he is a heretic,” quoth
he; “I refer you to these good fathers if he is not.” I did not appeal to them as
judges, for they had already nodded assent; but I said to them: “He refuses
to admit that word proximate, because he can meet with nobody who will
explain it to him.” Upon this one of the fathers
was on the point of offering his definition of the term, when he was
interrupted by M. le Moine’s disciple, who said to him: “Do you mean, then,
to renew our broils? Have we not agreed not to explain that word proximate,
but to use it on both sides without saying what it signifies?” To this the
Jacobin gave his assent. I was thus let into the whole
secret of their plot; and, rising to take my leave of them, I remarked:
“Indeed, fathers, I am much afraid this is nothing better than pure
chicanery; and, whatever may be the result of your convocations, I venture to
predict that, though the censure should pass, peace will not be established.
For though it should be decided that the syllables of that word proximate
should be pronounced, who does not see that, the meaning not being explained,
each of you will be disposed to claim the victory? The Jacobins will contend
that the word is to be understood in their sense; M. le Moine will insist
that it must be taken in his; and thus there will be more wrangling about the
explanation of the word than about its introduction. For, after all, there
would be no great danger in adopting it without any sense, seeing it is
through the sense only that it can do any harm. But it would be unworthy of
the Sorbonne and of theology to employ equivocal and captious terms without
giving any explanation of them. In short, fathers, tell me, I entreat you,
for the last time, what is necessary to be believed in order to be a good
Catholic?” “You must say,” they all
vociferated simultaneously, “that all the righteous have the proximate power,
abstracting from it all sense—from the sense of the Thomists and the sense of
other divines.” “That is to say,” I replied,
in taking leave of them, “that I must pronounce that word to avoid being the
heretic of a name. For, pray, is this a Scripture word?” “No,” said they. “Is
it a word of the Fathers, the Councils, or the Popes?” “No.” “Is the word,
then, used by St. Thomas?” “No.” “What necessity, therefore, is there for
using it since it has neither the authority of others nor any sense of
itself.?” “You are an opinionative fellow,” said they; “but you shall say it,
or you shall be a heretic, and M. Arnauld into the bargain; for we are the
majority, and, should it be necessary, we can bring a sufficient number of
Cordeliers into the field to carry the day.” On hearing this solid
argument, I took my leave of them, to write you the foregoing account of my
interview, from which you will perceive that the following points remain
undisputed and uncondemned by either party. First, That grace is not given to
all men. Second, That all the righteous have always the power of obeying the
divine commandments. Third, That they require, nevertheless, in order to obey
them, and even to pray, an efficacious grace, which invincibly determines
their will. Fourth, That this efficacious grace is not always granted to all
the righteous, and that it depends on the pure mercy of God. So that, after
all, the truth is safe, and nothing runs any risk but that word without the
sense, proximate. Happy the people who are
ignorant of its existence! happy those who lived before it was born! for I
see no help for it, unless the gentlemen of the Acadamy, by an act of
absolute authority, banish that barbarous term, which causes so many
divisions, from beyond the precincts of the Sorbonne. Unless this be done,
the censure appears certain; but I can easily see that it will do no other
harm than diminish the credit of the Sorbonne, and deprive it of that
authority which is so necessary to it on other occasions. Meanwhile,
I leave you at perfect liberty to hold by the word proximate or not, just as
you please; for I love you too much to persecute you under that pretext. If
this account is not displeasing to you, I shall continue to apprise you of
all that happens. I am, &c. |
Blaise Pascal |
