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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 V
Paris,
March 20, 1656 SIR, According to my promise, I now
send you the first outlines of the morals taught by those good fathers the
Jesuits, “those men distinguished for learning and sagacity, who are all under
the guidance of divine wisdom—a surer guide than all philosophy.” You
imagine, perhaps, that I am in jest, but I am perfectly serious; or rather,
they are so when they speak thus of themselves in their book entitied The
Image of the First Century. I am only copying their own words, and may now
give you the rest of the eulogy: “They are a society of men, or rather let us
call them angels, predicted by Isaiah in these words, ‘Go, ye swift and ready
angels.’” The prediction is as clear as day, is it not? “They have the spirit
of eagles they are a flock of phoenixes (a late author having demonstrated
that there are a great many of these birds); they have changed the face of
Christendom!” Of course, we must believe all this, since they have said it;
and in one sense you will find the account amply verified by the sequel of
this communication, in which I propose to treat of their maxims. Determined to obtain the best
possible information, I did not trust to the representations of our friend
the Jansenist, but sought an interview with some of themselves. I found
however, that he told me nothing but the bare truth, and I am persuaded he is
an honest man. Of this you may judge from the following account of these
conferences. In the conversation I had with
the Jansenist, he told me so many strange things about these fathers that I
could with difficulty believe them, till he pointed them out to me in their
writings; after which he left me nothing more to say in their defence than
that these might be the sentiments of some individuals only, which it was not
fair to impute to the whole fraternity. And, indeed, I assured him that I
knew some of them who were as severe as those whom he quoted to me were lax.
This led him to explain to me the spirit of the Society, which is not known
to every one; and you will perhaps have no objections to learning something
about it. “You imagine,” he began, “that
it would tell considerably in their favour to show that some of their fathers
are as friendly to Evangelical maxims as others are opposed to them; and you
would conclude from that circumstance, that these loose opinions do not
belong to the whole Society. That I grant you; for had such been the case,
they would not have suffered persons among them holding sentiments so
diametrically opposed to licentiousness. But, as it is equally true that
there are among them those who hold these licentious doctrines, you are bound
also to conclude that the holy Spirit of the Society is not that of Christian
severity, for had such been the case, they would not have suffered persons
among them holding sentiments so diametrically opposed to that severity.” “And what, then,” I asked,
“can be the design of the whole as a body? Perhaps they have no fixed
principle, and every one is left to speak out at random whatever he thinks.” “That cannot be,” returned my
friend; “such an immense body could not subsist in such a haphazard sort of
way, or without a soul to govern and regulate its movements; besides, it is
one of their express regulations that none shall print a page without the
approval of their superiors.” “But,” said I, “how can these
same superiors give their consent to maxims so contradictory?” “That is what you have yet to
learn,” he replied. “Know then that their object is not the corruption of
manners—that is not their design. But as little is it their sole aim to
reform them—that would be bad policy. Their idea is briefly this: They have
such a good opinion of themselves as to believe that it is useful, and in
some sort essentially necessary to the good of religion, that their influence
should extend everywhere, and that they should govern all consciences. And
the Evangelical or severe maxims being best fitted for managing some sorts of
people, they avail themselves of these when they find them favourable to
their purpose. But as these maxims do not suit the views of the great bulk of
the people, they waive them in the case of such persons, in order to keep on
good terms with all the world. Accordingly, having to deal with persons of
all classes and of all different nations, they find it necessary to have
casuists assorted to match this diversity. “On this principle, you will
easily see that, if they had none but the looser sort of casuists, they would
defeat their main design, which is to embrace all; for those that are truly
pious are fond of a stricter discipline. But as there are not many of that
stamp, they do not require many severe directors to guide them. They have a
few for the select few; while whole multitudes of lax casuists are provided
for the multitudes that prefer laxity. “It is in virtue of this
‘obliging and accommodating, conduct,’ as Father Petau calls it, that they
may be said to stretch out a helping hand to all mankind. Should any person
present himself before them, for example, fully resolved to make restitution
of some ill-gotten gains, do not suppose that they would dissuade him from
it. By no means; on the contrary, they would applaud and confirm him in such
a holy resolution. But suppose another should come who wishes to be absolved
without restitution, and it will be a particularly hard case indeed, if they
cannot furnish him with means of evading the duty, of one kind or another,
the lawfulness of which they will be ready to guarantee. “By this policy they keep all
their friends, and defend themselves against all their foes; for when charged
with extreme laxity, they have nothing more to do than produce their austere
directors, with some books which they have written on the severity of the
Christian code of morals; and simple people, or those who never look below
the surface of things, are quite satisfied with these proofs of the falsity
of the accusation. “Thus, are they prepared for
all sorts of persons, and so ready are they to suit the supply to the demand
that, when they happen to be in any part of the world where the doctrine of a
crucified God is accounted foolishness, they suppress the offence of the
cross and preach only a glorious and not a suffering Jesus Christ. This plan
they followed in the Indies and in China, where they permitted Christians to
practise idolatry itself, with the aid of the following ingenious
contrivance: they made their converts conceal under their clothes an image of
Jesus Christ, to which they taught them to transfer mentally those adorations
which they rendered ostensibly to the idol of Cachinchoam and Keum-fucum.
This charge is brought against them by Gravina, a Dominican, and is fully
established by the Spanish memorial presented to Philip IV, king of Spain, by
the Cordeliers of the Philippine Islands, quoted by Thomas Hurtado, in his
Martyrdom of the Faith, page 427. To such a length did this practice go that
the Congregation De Propaganda were obliged expressly to forbid the Jesuits,
on pain of excommunication, to permit the worship of idols on any pretext
whatever, or to conceal the mystery of the cross from their catechumens;
strictly enjoining them to admit none to baptism who were not thus
instructed, and ordering them to expose the image of the crucifix in their
churches: all of which is amply detailed in the decree of that Congregation,
dated the 9th of July, 1646, and signed by Cardinal Capponi. “Such is the manner in which
they have spread themselves over the whole earth, aided by the doctrine of
probable opinions, which is at once the source and the basis of all this
licentiousness. You must get some of themselves to explain this doctrine to
you. They make no secret of it, any more than of what you have already
learned; with this difference only, that they conceal their carnal and worldly
policy under the garb of divine and Christian prudence; as if the faith, and
tradition, its ally, were not always one and the same at all times and in all
places; as if it were the part of the rule to bend in conformity to the
subject which it was meant to regulate; and as if souls, to be purified from
their pollutions, had only to corrupt the law of the Lord, in place of the
law of the Lord, which is clean and pure, converting the soul which lieth in
sin, and bringing it into conformity with its salutary lessons! “Go and see some of these
worthy fathers, I beseech you, and I am confident that you will soon
discover, in the laxity of their moral system, the explanation of their
doctrine about grace. You will then see the Christian virtues exhibited in
such a strange aspect, so completely stripped of the charity which is the
life and soul of them, you will see so many crimes palliated and
irregularities tolerated that you will no longer be surprised at their
maintaining that ‘all men have always enough of grace’ to lead a pious life,
in the sense of which they understand piety. Their morality being entirely
Pagan, nature is quite competent to its observance. When we maintain the
necessity of efficacious grace, we assign it another sort of virtue for its
object. Its office is not to cure one vice by means of another; it is not
merely to induce men to practise the external duties of religion: it aims at
a virtue higher than that propounded by Pharisees, or the greatest sages of
Heathenism. The law and reason are ‘sufficient graces’ for these purposes.
But to disenthral the soul from the love of the world—to tear it from what it
holds most dear—to make it die to itself—to lift it up and bind it wholly,
only, and forever, to God can be the work of none but an all-powerful hand.
And it would be as absurd to affirm that we have the full power of achieving
such objects, as it would be to allege that those virtues, devoid of the love
of God, which these fathers confound with the virtues of Christianity, are
beyond our power.” Such was the strain of my
friend’s discourse, which was delivered with much feeling; for he takes these
sad disorders very much to heart. For my own part, I began to entertain a
high admiration for these fathers, simply on account of the ingenuity of
their policy; and, following his advice, I waited on a good casuist of the
Society, one of my old acquaintances, with whom I now resolved purposely to
renew my former intimacy. Having my instructions how to manage them, I had no
great difficulty in getting him afloat. Retaining his old attachment, he
received me immediately with a profusion of kindness; and, after talking over
some indifferent matters, I took occasion from the present season to learn
something from him about fasting and, thus, slip insensibly into the main
subject. I told him, therefore, that I had difficulty in supporting the fast.
He exhorted me to do violence to my inclinations; but, as I continued to
murmur, he took pity on me and began to search out some ground for a
dispensation. In fact he suggested a number of excuses for me, none of which
happened to suit my case, till at length he bethought himself of asking me
whether I did not find it difficult to sleep without taking supper. “Yes, my
good father,” said I; “and for that reason I am obliged often to take a
refreshment at mid-day and supper at night.” “I am extremely happy,” he
replied, “to have found out a way of relieving you without sin: go in
peace—you are under no obligation to fast. However, I would not have you
depend on my word: step this way to the library.” On going thither with me he
took up a book, exclaiming with great rapture, “Here is the authority for
you: and, by my conscience, such an authority! It is Escobar!” “Who is Escobar?” I inquired. “What! not know Escobar! “
cried the monk; “the member of our Society who compiled this Moral Theology
from twenty-four of our fathers, and on this founds an analogy, in his
preface, between his book and ‘that in the Apocalypse which was sealed with
seven seals,’ and states that ‘Jesus presents it thus sealed to the four
living creatures, Suarez, Vasquez, Molina, and Valencia, in presence of the
four-and-twenty Jesuits who represent the four-and-twenty elders.’” He read me, in fact, the whole
of that allegory, which he pronounced to be admirably appropriate, and which
conveyed to my mind a sublime idea of the exellence of the work. At length,
having sought out the passage of fasting, “Oh, here it is!” he said;
“treatise I, example 13, no. 67: ‘If a man cannot sleep without taking
supper, is he bound to fast? Answer: By no means!’ Will that not satisfy
you?” “Not exactly,” replied I; “for
I might sustain the fast by taking my refreshment in the morning, and supping
at night.” “Listen, then, to what
follows; they have provided for all that: ‘And what is to be said, if the
person might make a shift with a refreshment in the morning and supping at
night?’” “That’s my case exactly.” “’Answer: Still he is not
obliged to fast; because no person is obliged to change the order of his meals.’” “A most excellent reason!” I
exclaimed. “But tell me, pray,” continued
the monk, “do you take much wine?” “No, my dear father,” I
answered; “I cannot endure it.” “I merely put the question,” returned
he, “to apprise you that you might, without breaking the fast, take a glass
or so in the morning, or whenever you felt inclined for a drop; and that is
always something in the way of supporting nature. Here is the decision at the
same place, no. 57: ‘May one, without breaking the fast, drink wine at any
hour he pleases, and even in a large quantity? Yes, he may: and a dram of
hippocrass too.’ I had no recollection of the hippocrass,” said the monk; “I
must take a note of that in my memorandum-book.” “He must be a nice man, this
Escobar,” observed I. “Oh! everybody likes him,”
rejoined the father; “he has such delightful questions! Only observe this one
in the same place, no. 38: ‘If a man doubt whether he is twenty-one years
old, is he obliged to fast? No. But suppose I were to be twenty-one to-night
an hour after midnight, and to-morrow were the fast, would I be obliged to
fast to-morrow? No; for you were at liberty to eat as much as you pleased for
an hour after midnight, not being till then fully twenty-one; and therefore
having a right to break the fast day, you are not obliged to keep it.’” “Well, that is vastly
entertaining!” cried I. “Oh,” rejoined the father, “it
is impossible to tear one’s self away from the book: I spend whole days and
nights in reading it; in fact, I do nothing else.” The worthy monk, perceiving
that I was interested, was quite delighted, and went on with his quotations.
“Now,” said he, “for a taste of Filiutius, one of the four-and-twenty
Jesuits: ‘Is a man who has exhausted himself any way—by profligacy, for
example—obliged to fast? By no means. But if he has exhausted himself
expressly to procure a dispensation from fasting, will he be held obliged? He
will not, even though he should have had that design.’ There now! would you
have believed that?” “Indeed, good father, I do not
believe it yet,” said I. “What! is it no sin for a man not to fast when he
has it in his power? And is it allowable to court occasions of committing
sin, or rather, are we not bound to shun them? That would be easy enough,
surely.” “Not always so,” he replied;
“that is just as it may happen.” “Happen, how?” cried I. “Oh!” rejoined the monk, “so
you think that if a person experience some inconvenience in avoiding the
occasions of sin, he is still bound to do so? Not so thinks Father Bauny.
‘Absolution,’ says he, ‘is not to be refused to such as continue in the
proximate occasions of sin, if they are so situated that they cannot give
them up without becoming the common talk of the world, or subjecting themselves
to personal inconvenience.’” “I am glad to hear it,
father,” I remarked; “and now that we are not obliged to avoid the occasions
of sin, nothing more remains but to say that we may deliberately court them.” “Even that is occasionally
permitted,” added he; “the celebrated casuist, Basil Ponce, has said so, and
Father Bauny quotes his sentiment with approbation in his Treatise on
Penance, as follows: ‘We may seek an occasion of sin directly and
designedly—primo et per se—when our own or our neighbour’s spiritual or
temporal advantage induces us to do so.’” “Truly,” said I, “it appears
to be all a dream to me, when I hear grave divines talking in this manner!
Come now, my dear father, tell me conscientiously, do you hold such a
sentiment as that?” “No, indeed,” said he, “I do
not.” “You are speaking, then,
against your conscience,” continued I. “Not at all,” he replied; “I
was speaking on that point not according to my own conscience, but according
to that of Ponce and Father Bauny, and them you may follow with the utmost
safety, for I assure you that they are able men.” “What, father! because they
have put down these three lines in their books, will it therefore become
allowable to court the occasions of sin? I always thought that we were bound
to take the Scripture and the tradition of the Church as our only rule, and
not your cauists.” “Goodness!” cried the monk, “I
declare you put me in mind of these Jansenists. Think you that Father Bauny
and Basil Ponce are not able to render their opinion probable?” “Probable won’t do for me,”
said I; “I must have certainty.” “I can easily see,” replied
the good father, “that you know nothing about our doctrine of probable
opinions. If you did, you would speak in another strain. Ah! my dear sir, I
must really give you some instructions on this point; without knowing this,
positively you can understand nothing at all. It is the foundation—the very
A, B, C, of our whole moral philosophy.” Glad to see him come to the
point to which I had been drawing him on, I expressed my satisfaction and
requested him to explain what was meant by a probable opinion? “That,” he replied, “our
authors will answer better than I can do. The generality of them, and, among
others, our four-and-twenty elders, describe it thus: ‘An opinion is called
probable when it is founded upon reasons of some consideration. Hence it may
sometimes happen that a single very grave doctor may render an opinion
probable.’ The reason is added: ‘For a man particularly given to study would
not adhere to an opinion unless he was drawn to it by a good and sufficient
reason.’” “So it would appear,” I
observed, with a smile, “that a single doctor may turn consciences round
about and upside down as he pleases, and yet always land them in a safe
position.” “You must not laugh at it,
sir,” returned the monk; “nor need you attempt to combat the doctrine. The
Jansenists tried this; but they might have saved themselves the trouble—it is
too firmly established. Hear Sanchez, one of the most famous of our fathers:
‘You may doubt, perhaps, whether the authority of a single good and learned
doctor renders an opinion probable. I answer that it does; and this is
confirmed by Angelus, Sylvester, Navarre, Emanuel Sa, &c. It is proved
thus: A probable opinion is one that has a considerable foundation. Now the
authority of a learned and pious man is entitled to very great consideration;
because (mark the reason), if the testimony of such a man has great influence
in convincing us that such and such an event occurred, say at Rome, for example,
why should it not have the same weight in the case of a question in morals?’” “An odd comparison this,”
interrupted I, “between the concerns of the world and those of conscience!” “Have a little patience,”
rejoined the monk; “Sanchez answers that in the very next sentence: ‘Nor can
I assent to the qualification made here by some writers, namely, that the
authority of such a doctor, though sufficient in matters of human right, is
not so in those of divine right. It is of vast weight in both cases.’” “Well, father,” said I,
frankly, “I really cannot admire that rule. Who can assure me, considering
the freedom your doctors claim to examine everything by reason, that what
appears safe to one may seem so to all the rest? The diversity of judgements
is so great”— “You don’t understand it,”
said he, interrupting me; “no doubt they are often of different sentiments,
but what signifies that? Each renders his own opinion probable and safe. We
all know well enough that they are far from being of the same mind; what is
more, there is hardly an instance in which they ever agree. There are very
few questions, indeed, in which you do not find the one saying yes and the
other saying no. Still, in all these cases, each of the contrary opinions is
probable. And hence Diana says on a certain subject: ‘Ponce and Sanchez hold
opposite views of it; but, as they are both learned men, each renders his own
opinion probable.’” “But, father,” I remarked, “a
person must be sadly embarrassed in choosing between them!” “Not at all,” he
rejoined; “he has only to follow the opinion which suits him best.” “What! if
the other is more probable?” “It does not signify,” “And if the other is the
safer?” “It does not signify,” repeated the monk; “this is made quite plain
by Emanuel Sa, of our Society, in his Aphorisms: ‘A person may do what he
considers allowable according to a probable opinion, though the contrary may
be the safer one. The opinion of a single grave doctor is all that is
requisite.’” “And if an opinion be at once
the less probable and the less safe, it is allowable to follow it,” I asked,
“even in the way of rejecting one which we believe to be more probable and
safe?” “Once more, I say yes,”
replied the monk. “Hear what Filiutius, that great Jesuit of Rome, says: ‘It
is allowable to follow the less probable opinion, even though it be the less
safe one. That is the common judgement of modern authors.’ Is not that quite
clear?” “Well, reverend father,” said
I, “you have given us elbowroom, at all events! Thanks to your probable opinions,
we have got liberty of conscience with a witness! And are you casuists
allowed the same latitude in giving your responses?” “Oh, yes,” said he, “we answer
just as we please; or rather, I should say, just as it may please those who
ask our advice. Here are our rules, taken from Fathers Layman, Vasquez,
Sanchez, and the four-and-twenty worthies, in the words of Layman: ‘A doctor,
on being consulted, may give an advice, not only probable according to his
own opinion, but contrary to his own opinion, provided this judgement happens
to be more favourable or more agreeable to the person that consults him—si
forte haec favorabilior seu exoptatior sit. Nay, I go further and say that
there would be nothing unreasonable in his giving those who consult him a judgement
held to be probable by some learned person, even though he should be
satisfied in his own mind that it is absolutely false.’” “Well, seriously, father,” I
said, “your doctrine is a most uncommonly comfortable one! Only think of
being allowed to answer yes or no, just as you please! It is impossible to
prize such a privilege too highly. I see now the advantage of the contrary
opinions of your doctors. One of them always serves your turn, and the other
never gives you any annoyance. If you do not find your account on the one
side, you fall back on the other and always land in perfect safety.” “That is quite true,” he
replied; “and, accordingly, we may always say with Diana, on his finding that
Father Bauny was on his side, while Father Lugo was against him: Saepe
premente deo, fert deus alter opem.”1 1 Ovid, Appendice, xiii. “If
pressed by any god, we will be delivered by another.” “I understand you,” resumed I;
“but a practical difficulty has just occurred to me, which is this, that
supposing a person to have consulted one of your doctors and obtained from
him a pretty liberal opinion, there is some danger of his getting into a
scrape by meeting a confessor who takes a different view of the matter and
refuses him absolution unless he recant the sentiment of the casuist. Have
you not provided for such a case as that, father?” “Can you doubt it?” he
replied, “We have bound them, sir, to absolve their penitents who act according
to probable opinions, under the pain of mortal sin, to secure their
compliance. ‘When the penitent,’ says Father Bauny, ‘follows a probable
opinion, the confessor is bound to absolve him, though his opinion should
differ from that of his penitent.’” “But he does not say it would
be a mortal sin not to absolve him” said I. “How hasty you are!” rejoined
the monk; “listen to what follows; he has expressly decided that, ‘to refuse
absolution to a penitent who acts according to a probable opinion is a sin
which is in its nature mortal.’ And, to settle that point, he cites the most
illustrious of our fathers—Suarez, Vasquez, and Sanchez.” “My dear sir,” said I, “that
is a most prudent regulation. I see nothing to fear now. No confessor can
dare to be refractory after this. Indeed, I was not aware that you had the
power of issuing your orders on pain of damnation. I thought that your skill
had been confined to the taking away of sins; I had no idea that it extended
to the introduction of new ones. But, from what I now see, you are
omnipotent.” “That is not a correct way of
speaking,” rejoined the father. “We do not introduce sins; we only pay
attention to them. I have had occasion to remark, two or three times during
our conversation, that you are no great scholastic.” “Be that as it may, father,
you have at least answered my difficulty. But I have another to suggest. How
do you manage when the Fathers of the Church happen to differ from any of
your casuists?” “You really know very little
of the subject,” he replied. “The Fathers were good enough for the morality
of their own times; but they lived too far back for that of the present age,
which is no longer regulated by them, but by the modern casuists. On this
Father Cellot, following the famous Reginald, remarks: ‘In questions of
morals, the modern casuists are to be preferred to the ancient fathers,
though those lived nearer to the times of the apostles.’ And following out
this maxim, Diana thus decides: ‘Are beneficiaries bound to restore their
revenue when guilty of mal-appropriation of it? The ancients would say yes,
but the moderns say no; let us, therefore, adhere to the latter opinion,
which relieves from the obligation of restitution.’” “Delightful words these, and
most comfortable they must be to a great many people!” I observed. “We leave the fathers,”
resumed the monk, “to those who deal with positive divinity. As for us, who
are the directors of conscience, we read very little of them and quote only
the modern casuists. There is Diana, for instance, a most voluminous writer;
he has prefixed to his works a list of his authorities, which amount to two
hundred and ninety-six, and the most ancient of them is only about eighty
years old.” “It would appear, then,” I
remarked, “that all these have come into the world since the date of your
Society?” “Thereabouts,” he replied. “That is to say, dear father,
on your advent, St. Augustine, St. Chrysostom, St. Ambrose, St. Jerome, and
all the rest, in so far as morals are concerned, disappeared from the stage.
Would you be so kind as let me know the names, at least, of those modern
authors who have succeeded them?” “A most able and renowned
class of men they are,” replied the monk. “Their names are: Villalobos,
Conink, Llamas, Achokier, Dealkozer, Dellacruz, Veracruz, Ugolin, Tambourin,
Fernandez, Martinez, Suarez, Henriquez, Vasquez, Lopez, Gomez, Sanchez, De
Vechis, De Grassis, De Grassalis, De Pitigianis, De Graphaeis, Squilanti,
Bizozeri, Barcola, De Bobadilla, Simanacha, Perez de Lara, Aldretta, Lorca,
De Scarcia, Quaranta, Scophra, Pedrezza, Cabrezza, Bisbe, Dias, De Clavasio,
Villagut, Adam a Manden, Iribarne, Binsfeld, Volfangi A Vorberg, Vosthery,
Strevesdorf.” “O my dear father!” cried I,
quite alarmed, “were all these people Christians?” “How! Christians!” returned
the casuist; “did I not tell you that these are the only writers by whom we
now govern Christendom?” Deeply affected as I was by
this announcement, I concealed my emotion from the monk and only asked him if
all these authors were Jesuits? “No,” said he; “but that is of
little consequence; they have said a number of good things for all that. It
is true the greater part of these same good things are extracted or copied
from our authors, but we do not stand on ceremony with them on that score,
more especially as they are in the constant habit of quoting our authors with
applause. When Diana, for example, who does not belong to our Society, speaks
of Vasquez, he calls him ‘that phoenix of genius’; and he declares more than
once ‘that Vasquez alone is to him worth all the rest of men put
together’—instar omnium. Accordingly, our fathers often make use of this good
Diana; and, if you understand our doctrine of probability, you will see that
this is no small help in its way. In fact, we are anxious that others besides
the Jesuits would render their opinions probable, to prevent people from
ascribing them all to us; for you will observe that, when any author, whoever
he may be, advances a probable opinion, we are entitled, by the doctrine of
probability, to adopt it if we please; and yet, if the author does not belong
to our fraternity, we are not responsible for its soundness.” “I understand all that,” said
I. “It is easy to see that all are welcome that come your way, except the
ancient fathers; you are masters of the field, and have only to walk the
course. But I foresee three or four serious difficulties and powerful
barriers which will oppose your career.” “And what are these?” cried
the monk, looking quite alarmed. “They are the Holy
Scriptures,” I replied, “the popes, and the councils, whom you cannot
gainsay, and who are all in the way of the Gospel.” “Is that all?” he exclaimed;
“I declare you put me in a fright. Do you imagine that we would overlook such
an obvious scruple as that, or that we have not provided against it? A good
idea, forsooth, to suppose that we would contradict Scripture, popes, and
councils! I must convince you of your mistake; for I should be sorry you
should go away with an impression that we are deficient in our respect to
these authorities. You have doubtless taken up this notion from some of the
opinions of our fathers, which are apparently at variance with their
decisions, though in reality they are not. But to illustrate the harmony
between them would require more leisure than we have at present; and, as I
would not like you to retain a bad impression of us, if you agree to meet
with me to-morrow, I shall clear it all up then.” Thus ended
our interview, and thus shall end my present communication, which has been
long enough, besides, for one letter. I am sure you will be satisfied with
it, in the prospect of what is forthcoming. I am, &c. |
Blaise Pascal |
