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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 IV
Paris,
February 25, 1656 SIR, Nothing can come up to the
Jesuits. I have seen Jacobins, doctors, and all sorts of people in my day,
but such an interview as I have just had was wanting to complete my knowledge
of mankind. Other men are merely copies of them. As things are always found
best at the fountainhead, I paid a visit to one of the ablest among them, in
company with my trusty Jansenist—the same who accompanied me to the
Dominicans. Being particularly anxious to learn something of a dispute which
they have with the Jansenists about what they call actual grace, I said to
the worthy father that I would be much obliged to him if he would instruct me
on this point—that I did not even know what the term meant and would thank
him to explain it. “With all my heart,” the Jesuit replied; “for I dearly
love inquisitive people. Actual grace, according to our definition, ‘is an
inspiration of God, whereby He makes us to know His will and excites within
us a desire to perform it.’” “And where,” said I, “lies
your difference with the Jansenists on this subject?” “The difference lies here,” he
replied; “we hold that God bestows actual grace on all men in every case of
temptation; for we maintain that unless a person have, whenever tempted,
actual grace to keep him from sinning, his sin, whatever it may be, can never
be imputed to him. The Jansenists, on the other hand, affirm that sins,
though committed without actual grace, are, nevertheless, imputed; but they
are a pack of fools.” I got a glimpse of his meaning; but, to obtain from him
a fuller explanation, I observed: “My dear father, it is that phrase actual
grace that puzzles me; I am quite a stranger to it, and if you would have the
goodness to tell me the same thing over again, without employing that term,
you would infinitely oblige me.” “Very good,” returned the
father; “that is to say, you want me to substitute the definition in place of
the thing defined; that makes no alteration of the sense; I have no
objections. We maintain it, then, as an undeniable principle, that an action
cannot be imputed as a sin, unless God bestow on us, before committing it,
the knowledge of the evil that is in the action, and an inspiration inciting
us to avoid it. Do you understand me now?” Astonished at such a declaration,
according to which, no sins of surprise, nor any of those committed in entire
forgetfulness of God, could be imputed, I turned round to my friend the
Jansenist and easily discovered from his looks that he was of a different way
of thinking. But as he did not utter a word, I said to the monk, “I would
fain wish, my dear father, to think that what you have now said is true, and
that you have good proofs for it.” “Proofs, say you!” he
instantly exclaimed: “I shall furnish you with these very soon, and the very
best sort too; let me alone for that.” So saying, he went in search
of his books, and I took this opportunity of asking my friend if there was
any other person who talked in this manner? “Is this so strange to you?” he
replied. “You may depend upon it that neither the fathers, nor the popes, nor
councils, nor Scripture, nor any book of devotion employ such language; but,
if you wish casuists and modern schoolmen, he will bring you a goodly number
of them on his side.” “O! but I care not a fig about these authors, if they
are contrary to tradition,” I said. “You are right,” he replied. As he spoke, the good father
entered the room, laden with books; and presenting to me the first that came
to hand. “Read that,” he said; “this is The Summary of Sins, by Father
Bauny—the fifth edition too, you see, which shows that it is a good book.” “It is a pity, however,”
whispered the Jansenist in my ear, “that this same book has been condemned at
Rome, and by the bishops of France.” “Look at page 906,” said the
father. I did so and read as follows: “In order to sin and become culpable in
the sight of God, it is necessary to know that the thing we wish to do is not
good, or at least to doubt that it is—to fear or to judge that God takes no
pleasure in the action which we contemplate, but forbids it; and in spite of
this, to commit the deed, leap the fence, and transgress.” “This is a good commencement,”
I remarked. “And yet,” said he, “mark how far envy will carry some people. It
was on that very passage that M. Hallier, before he became one of our
friends, bantered Father Bauny, by applying to him these words: Ecce qui
tollit peccata mundi—‘Behold the man that taketh away the sins of the
world!’” “Certainly,” said I,
“according to Father Bauny, we may be said to behold a redemption of an
entirely new description.” “Would you have a more
authentic witness on the point?” added he. “Here is the book of Father Annat.
It is the last that he wrote against M. Arnauld. Turn up to page 34, where
there is a dog’s ear, and read the lines which I have marked with pencil—they
ought to be written in letters of gold.” I then read these words: “He that
has no thought of God, nor of his sins, nor any apprehension (that is, as he
explained it, any knowledge) of his obligation to exercise the acts of love
to God or contrition, has no actual grace for exercising those acts; but it
is equally true that he is guilty of no sin in omitting them, and that, if he
is damned, it will not be as a punishment for that omission.” And a few lines
below, he adds: “The same thing may be said of a culpable commission.” “You see,” said the monk, “how
he speaks of sins of omission and of commission. Nothing escapes him. What
say you to that?” “Say!” I exclaimed. “I am
delighted! What a charming train of consequences do I discover flowing from
this doctrine! I can see the whole results already; and such mysteries
present themselves before me! Why, I see more people, beyond all comparison,
justified by this ignorance and forgetfulness of God, than by grace and the
sacraments! But, my dear father, are you not inspiring me with a delusive
joy? Are you sure there is nothing here like that sufficiency which suffices
not? I am terribly afraid of the Distinguo; I was taken in with that once
already! Are you quite in earnest?” “How now!” cried the monk,
beginning to get angry, “here is no matter for jesting. I assure you there is
no such thing as equivocation here.” “I am not making a jest of it,
said I; “but that is what I really dread, from pure anxiety to find it true.” “Well then,” he said, “to
assure yourself still more of it, here are the writings of M. le Moine, who
taught the doctrine in a full meeting of the Sorbonne. He learned it from us,
to be sure; but he has the merit of having cleared it up most admirably. O how
circumstantially he goes to work! He shows that, in order to make out action
to be a sin, all these things must have passed through the mind. Read, and
weigh every word.” I then read what I now give you in a translation from the
original Latin: “1. On the one hand, God sheds abroad on the soul some
measure of love, which gives it a bias toward the thing commanded; and on the
other, a rebellious concupiscence solicits it in the opposite direction. 2.
God inspires the soul with a knowledge of its own weakness. 3. God reveals
the knowledge of the physician who can heal it. 4. God inspires it with a
desire to be healed. 5. God inspires a desire to pray and solicit his
assistance.” “And unless all these things
occur and pass through the soul,” added the monk, “the action is not properly
a sin, and cannot be imputed, as M. le Moine shows in the same place and in
what follows. Would you wish to have other authorities for this? Here they
are.” “All modern ones, however,”
whispered my Jansenist friend. “So I perceive,” said I to him
aside; and then, turning to the monk: “O my dear sir,” cried I, “what a
blessing this will be to some persons of my acquaintance! I must positively
introduce them to you. You have never, perhaps, met with people who had fewer
sins to account for all your life. For, in the first place, they never think
of God at all; their vices have got the better of their reason; they have
never known either their weakness or the physician who can cure it; they have
never thought of ‘desiring the health of their soul,’ and still less of
‘praying to God to bestow it’; so that, according to M. le Moine, they are
still in the state of baptismal innocence. They have ‘never had a thought of
loving God or of being contrite for their sins’; so that, according to Father
Annat, they have never committed sin through the want of charity and
penitence. Their life is spent in a perpetual round of all sorts of
pleasures, in the course of which they have not been interrupted by the
slightest remorse. These excesses had led me to imagine that their perdition
was inevitable; but you, father, inform me that these same excesses secure
their salvation. Blessings on you, my good father, for this way of justifying
people! Others prescribe painful austerities for healing the soul; but you
show that souls which may be thought desperately distempered are in quite
good health. What an excellent device for being happy both in this world and
in the next! I had always supposed that the less a man thought of God, the
more he sinned; but, from what I see now, if one could only succeed in
bringing himself not to think upon God at all, everything would be pure with
him in all time coming. Away with your half-and-half sinners, who retain some
sneaking affection for virtue! They will be damned every one of them, these
semi-sinners. But commend me to your arrant sinners—hardened, unalloyed,
out-and-out, thorough-bred sinners. Hell is no place for them; they have
cheated the devil, purely by virtue of their devotion to his service!” The good father, who saw very
well the connection between these consequences and his principle, dexterously
evaded them; and, maintaining his temper, either from good nature or policy,
he merely replied: “To let you understand how we avoid these inconveniences,
you must know that, while we affirm that these reprobates to whom you refer
would be without sin if they had no thoughts of conversion and no desires to
devote themselves to God, we maintain that they all actually have such
thoughts and desires, and that God never permitted a man to sin without
giving him previously a view of the evil which he contemplated, and a desire,
either to avoid the offence, or at all events to implore his aid to enable
him to avoid it; and none but Jansenists will assert the contrary.” “Strange! father,” returned I;
“is this, then, the heresy of the Jansenists, to deny that every time a man
commits a sin he is troubled with a remorse of conscience, in spite of which,
he ‘leaps the fence and transgresses,’ as Father Bauny has it? It is rather
too good a joke to be made a heretic for that. I can easily believe that a
man may be damned for not having good thoughts; but it never would have
entered my head to imagine that any man could be subjected to that doom for
not believing that all mankind must have good thoughts! But, father, I hold
myself bound in conscience to disabuse you and to inform you that there are
thousands of people who have no such desires—who sin without regret—who sin
with delight—who make a boast of sinning. And who ought to know better about
these things than yourself.? You cannot have failed to have confessed some of
those to whom I allude; for it is among persons of high rank that they are
most generally to be met with. But mark, father, the dangerous consequences
of your maxim. Do you not perceive what effect it may have on those
libertines who like nothing better than to find out matter of doubt in
religion? What a handle do you give them, when you assure them, as an article
of faith, that, on every occasion when they commit a sin, they feel an inward
presentiment of the evil and a desire to avoid it? Is it not obvious that,
feeling convinced by their own experience of the falsity of your doctrine on
this point, which you say is a matter of faith, they will extend the
inference drawn from this to all the other points? They will argue that,
since you are not trustworthy in one article, you are to be suspected in them
all; and thus you shut them up to conclude either that religion is false or
that you must know very little about it.” Here my friend the Jansenist,
following up my remarks, said to him: “You would do well, father, if you wish
to preserve your doctrine, not to explain so precisely as you have done to us
what you mean by actual grace. For, how could you, without forfeiting all
credit in the estimation of men, openly declare that nobody sins without
having previously the knowledge of his weakness, and of a physician, or the
desire of a cure, and of asking it of God? Will it be believed, on your word,
that those who are immersed in avarice, impurity, blasphemy, duelling,
revenge, robbery and sacrilege, have really a desire to embrace chastity,
humility, and the other Christian virtues? Can it be conceived that those
philosophers who boasted so loudly of the powers of nature, knew its
infirmity and its physician? Will you maintain that those who held it as a
settled maxim that is not God that bestows virtue, and that no one ever asked
it from him,’ would think of asking it for themselves? Who can believe that
the Epicureans, who denied a divine providence, ever felt any inclination to
pray to God? men who said that ‘it would be an insult to invoke the Deity in
our necessities, as if he were capable of wasting a thought on beings like
us?’ In a word, how can it be imagined that idolaters and atheists, every
time they are tempted to the commission of sin, in other words, infinitely
often during their lives, have a desire to pray to the true God, of whom they
are ignorant, that he would bestow on them virtues of which they have no
conception?” “Yes,” said the worthy monk,
in a resolute tone, “we will affirm it: and sooner than allow that any one
sins without having the consciousness that he is doing evil, and the desire
of the opposite virtue, we will maintain that the whole world, reprobates and
infidels included, have these inspirations and desires in every case of
temptation. You cannot show me, from the Scripture at least, that this is not
the truth.” On this remark I struck in, by
exclaiming: “What! father, must we have recourse to the Scripture to
demonstrate a thing so clear as this? This is not a point of faith, nor even
of reason. It is a matter of fact: we see it—we know it—we feel it.” But the Jansenist, keeping the
monk to his own terms, addressed him as follows: “If you are willing, father,
to stand or fall by Scripture, I am ready to meet you there; only you must
promise to yield to its authority; and, since it is written that ‘God has not
revealed his judgements to the Heathen, but left them to wander in their own
ways,’ you must not say that God has enlightened those whom the Sacred
Writings assure us ‘he has left in darkness and in the shadow of death.’ Is
it not enough to show the erroneousness of your principle, to find that St.
Paul calls himself ‘the chief of sinners,’ for a sin which he committed
‘ignorantly, and with zeal’? Is it not enough, to and from the Gospel, that
those who crucified Jesus Christ had need of the pardon which he asked for
them, although they knew not the malice of their action, and would never have
committed it, according to St. Paul, if they had known it? Is it not enough
that Jesus Christ apprises us that there will be persecutors of the Church,
who, while making every effort to ruin her, will ‘think that they are doing God
service’; teaching us that this sin, which in the judgement of the apostle,
is the greatest of all sins, may be committed by persons who, so far from
knowing that they were sinning, would think that they sinned by not
committing it? In fine, it is not enough that Jesus Christ himself has taught
us that there are two kinds of sinners, the one of whom sin with ‘knowledge
of their Master’s will,’ and the other without knowledge; and that both of
them will be ‘chastised,’ although, indeed, in a different manner?” Sorely pressed by so many
testimonies from Scripture, to which he had appealed, the worthy monk began
to give way; and, leaving the wicked to sin without inspiration, he said:
“You will not deny that good men, at least, never sin unless God give them”—“You
are flinching,” said I, interrupting him; “you are flinching now, my good
father; you abandon the general principle, and, finding that it will not hold
good in regard to the wicked, you would compound the matter, by making it
apply at least to the righteous. But in this point of view the application of
it is, I conceive, so circumscribed that it will hardly apply to anybody, and
it is scarcely worth while to dispute the point.” My friend, however, who was so
ready on the whole question, that I am inclined to think he had studied it
all that very morning, replied: “This, father, is the last entrenchment to
which those of your party who are willing to reason at all are sure to
retreat; but you are far from being safe even here. The example of the saints
is not a whit more in your favour. Who doubts that they often fall into sins
of surprise, without being conscious of them? Do we not learn from the saints
themselves how often concupiscence lays hidden snares for them; and how
generally it happens, as St. Augustine complains of himself in his
Confessions, that, with all their discretion, they ‘give to pleasure what
they mean only to give to necessity’? “How usual is it to see the
more zealous friends of truth betrayed by the heat of controversy into
sallies of bitter passion for their personal interests, while their
consciences, at the time, bear them no other testimony than that they are
acting in this manner purely for the interests of truth, and they do not
discover their mistake till long afterwards! “What, again, shall we say of
those who, as we learn from examples in ecclesiastical history, eagerly
involve themselves in affairs which are really bad, because they believe them
to be really good; and yet this does not hinder the fathers from condemning
such persons as having sinned on these occasions? “And were this not the case,
how could the saints have their secret faults? How could it be true that God
alone knows the magnitude and the number of our offences; that no one knows
whether he is worthy of hatred or love; and that the best of saints, though
unconscious of any culpability, ought always, as St. Paul says of himself, to
remain in ‘fear and trembling’? “You perceive, then, father,
that this knowledge of the evil and love of the opposite virtue, which you
imagine to be essential to constitute sin, are equally disproved by the
examples of the righteous and of the wicked. In the case of the wicked, their
passion for vice sufficiently testifies that they have no desire for virtue;
and in regard to the righteous, the love which they bear to virtue plainly
shows that they are not always conscious of those sins which, as the
Scripture teaches, they are daily committing. “So true is it, indeed, that
the righteous often sin through ignorance, that the greatest saints rarely
sin otherwise. For how can it be supposed that souls so pure, who avoid with
so much care and zeal the least things that can be displeasing to God as soon
as they discover them, and who yet sin many times every day, could possibly
have every time before they fell into sin, ‘the knowledge of their infirmity
on that occasion, and of their physician, and the desire of their souls’
health, and of praying to God for assistance,’ and that, in spite of these
inspirations, these devoted souls ‘nevertheless transgress,’ and commit the
sin? “You must conclude then,
father, that neither sinners nor yet saints have always that knowledge, or
those desires and inspirations, every time they offend; that is, to use your
own terms, they have not always actual grace. Say no longer, with your modern
authors, that it is impossible for those to sin who do not know
righteousness; but rather join with St. Augustine and the ancient fathers in
saying that it is impossible not to sin, when we do not know righteousness: Necesse
est ut peccet, a quo ignoratur justilia.” The good father, though thus
driven from both of his positions, did not lose courage, but after ruminating
a little, “Ha!” he exclaimed, “I shall convince you immediately.” And again
taking up Father Bauny, he pointed to the same place he had before quoted,
exclaiming, “Look now—see the ground on which he establishes his opinion! I
was sure he would not be deficient in good proofs. Read what he quotes from
Aristotle, and you will see that, after so express an authority, you must
either burn the books of this prince of philosophers or adopt our opinion.
Hear, then, the principles which support Father Bauny: Aristotle states
first, ‘that an action cannot be imputed as blameworthy, if it be
involuntary.’” “I grant that,” said my
friend. “This is the first time you
have agreed together,” said I. “Take my advice, father, and proceed no
further.” “That would be doing nothing,”
he replied; “we must know what are the conditions necessary to constitute an
action voluntary.” “I am much afraid,” returned
I, “that you will get at loggerheads on that point.” “No fear of that,” said he;
“this is sure ground—Aristotle is on my side. Hear now, what Father Bauny
says: ‘In order that an action be voluntary, it must proceed from a man who
perceives, knows, and comprehends what is good and what is evil in it.
Voluntarium est—that is a voluntary action, as we commonly say with the
philosopher’ (that is Aristotle, you know, said the monk, squeezing my hand);
‘quod fit a principio cognoscente singula in quibus est actio—which is done
by a person knowing the particulars of the action; so that when the will is
led inconsiderately, and without mature reflection, to embrace or reject, to
do or omit to do anything, before the understanding has been able to see
whether it would be right or wrong, such an action is neither good nor evil;
because previous to this mental inquisition, view, and reflection on the good
or bad qualities of the matter in question, the act by which it is done is
not voluntary.’ Are you satisfied now?” said the father. “It appears,” returned I,
“that Aristotle agrees with Father Bauny; but that does not prevent me from
feeling surprised at this statement. What, sir! is it not enough to make an
action voluntary that the man knows what he is doing, and does it just
because he chooses to do it? Must we suppose, besides this, that he
‘perceives, knows, and comprehends what is good and evil in the action’? Why,
on this supposition there would be hardly such a thing in nature as voluntary
actions, for no one scarcely thinks about all this. How many oaths in
gambling, how many excesses in debauchery, how many riotous extravagances in
the carnival, must, on this principle, be excluded from the list of voluntary
actions, and consequently neither good nor bad, because not accompanied by
those ‘mental reflections on the good and evil qualities’ of the action? But
is it possible, father, that Aristotle held such a sentiment? I have always
understood that he was a sensible man.” “I shall soon convince you of
that, said the Jansenist, and requesting a sight of Aristotle’s Ethics, he
opened it at the beginning of the third book, from which Father Bauny had
taken the passage quoted, and said to the monk: “I excuse you, my dear sir,
for having believed, on the word of Father Bauny, that Aristotle held such a
sentiment; but you would have changed your mind had you read him for
yourself. It is true that he teaches, that ‘in order to make an action
voluntary, we must know the particulars of that action’—singula in quibus est
actio. But what else does he means by that, than the circumstances of the
action? The examples which he adduces clearly show this to be his meaning,
for they are exclusively confined to cases in which the persons were ignorant
of some of the circumstances; such as that of ‘a person who, wishing to
exhibit a machine, discharges a dart which wounds a bystander; and that of
Merope, who killed her own son instead of her enemy,’ and such like. “Thus you see what is the kind
of ignorance that renders actions involuntary; namely, that of the particular
circumstances, which is termed by divines, as you must know, ignorance of the
fact. But with respect to ignorance of the right—ignorance of the good or
evil in an action—which is the only point in question, let us see if
Aristotle agrees with Father Bauny. Here are the words of the philosopher:
‘All wicked men are ignorant of what they ought to do, and what they ought to
avoid; and it is this very ignorance which makes them wicked and vicious.
Accordingly, a man cannot be said to act involuntarily merely because he is
ignorant of what it is proper for him to do in order to fulfil his duty. This
ignorance in the choice of good and evil does not make the action
involuntary; it only makes it vicious. The same thing may be affirmed of the
man who is ignorant generally of the rules of his duty; such ignorance is
worthy of blame, not of excuse. And consequently, the ignorance which renders
actions involuntary and excusable is simply that which relates to the fact
and its particular circumstances. In this case the person is excused and
forgiven, being considered as having acted contrary to his inclination.’ “After this, father, will you
maintain that Aristotle is of your opinion? And who can help being astonished
to find that a Pagan philosopher had more enlightened views than your
doctors, in a matter so deeply affecting morals, and the direction of
conscience, too, as the knowledge of those conditions which render actions
voluntary or involuntary, and which, accordingly, charge or discharge them as
sinful? Look for no more support, then, father, from the prince of
philosophers, and no longer oppose yourselves to the prince of theologians,
who has thus decided the point in the first book of his Retractations,
chapter xv: ‘Those who sin through ignorance, though they sin without meaning
to sin, commit the deed only because they will commit it. And, therefore,
even this sin of ignorance cannot be committed except by the will of him who
commits it, though by a will which incites him to the action merely, and not
to the sin; and yet the action itself is nevertheless sinful, for it is
enough to constitute it such that he has done what he was bound not to do.’” The Jesuit seemed to be
confounded more with the passage from Aristotle, I thought, than that from
St. Augustine; but while he was thinking on what he could reply, a messenger
came to inform him that Madame la Marechale of—, and Madame the Marchioness
of—, requested his attendance. So, taking a hasty leave of us, he said: “I
shall speak about it to our fathers. They will find an answer to it, I
warrant you; we have got some long heads among us.” We
understood him perfectly well; and, on our being left alone, I expressed to
my friend my astonishment at the subversion which this doctrine threatened to
the whole system of morals. To this he replied that he was quite astonished
at my astonishment. “Are you not yet aware,” he said, “that they have gone to
far greater excess in morals than in any other matter?” He gave me some
strange illustrations of this, promising me more at some future time. The
information which I may receive on this point will, I hope, furnish the topic
of my next communication. I am, &c. |
Blaise Pascal |
