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<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Pascal's Pensées, by Blaise Pascal.</title>
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<body><p>Thus so wretched is man that he would weary even without any cause for weariness from the peculiar state of his disposition; and so frivolous is he, that, though full of a thousand reasons for weariness, the least thing, such as playing billiards or hitting a ball, is sufficient to amuse him.</p>
<p>But will you say what object has he in all this? The pleasure of bragging to-morrow among his friends that he has played better than another. So others sweat in their own rooms to show to the learned that they have solved a problem in algebra, which no one had hitherto been able to solve. Many more expose themselves to extreme perils, in my opinion as foolishly, in order to boast afterwards that they have captured a town.<a id="Page_42" class="pageno" title="[Pg 42]"/> Lastly, others wear themselves out in studying all these things, not in order to become wiser, but only in order to prove that they know them; and these are the most senseless of the band, since they are so knowingly, whereas one may suppose of the others, that if they knew it, they would no longer be foolish.</p>
<p>This man spends his life without weariness in playing every day for a small stake. Give him each morning the money he can win each day, on condition he does not play; you make him miserable. It will perhaps be said that he seeks the amusement of play and not the winnings. Make him then play for nothing; he will not become excited over it, and will feel bored. It is then not the amusement alone that he seeks; a languid and passionless amusement will weary him. He must get excited over it, and deceive himself by the fancy that he will be happy to win what he would not have as a gift on condition of not playing; and he must make for himself an object of passion, and excite over it his desire, his anger, his fear, to obtain his imagined end, as children are frightened at the face they have blackened.</p>
<p>Whence comes it that this man, who lost his only son a few months ago, or who this morning was in such trouble through being distressed by lawsuits and quarrels, now no longer thinks of them? Do not wonder; he is quite taken up in looking out for the boar which his dogs have been hunting so hotly for the last six hours. He requires nothing more. However full of sadness a man may be, he is happy for the time, if you can prevail upon him to enter into some amusement; and however happy a man may be, he will soon be discontented and wretched, if he be not diverted and occupied by some passion or pursuit which prevents weariness from overcoming him. Without amusement there is no joy; with amusement there is no sadness. And this also constitutes the happiness of persons in high position, that they have a number of people to amuse them, and have the power to keep themselves in this state.</p>
<p>Consider this. What is it to be superintendent, chancellor, first president, but to be in a condition wherein from early morning a large number of people come from all quarters to see them, so as not to leave them an hour in the day in which they can think of themselves? And when they are in disgrace and sent back to their country houses, where they lack neither wealth nor servants to help them on occasion, they do not fail to be wretched and desolate, because no one prevents them from thinking of themselves.<a id="Page_43" class="pageno" title="[Pg 43]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00147"><a id="p_140"/>140</h4>
<p>[How does it happen that this man, so distressed at the death of his wife and his only son, or who has some great lawsuit which annoys him, is not at this moment sad, and that he seems so free from all painful and disquieting thoughts? We need not wonder; for a ball has been served him, and he must return it to his companion. He is occupied in catching it in its fall from the roof, to win a game. How can he think of his own affairs, pray, when he has this other matter in hand? Here is a care worthy of occupying this great soul, and taking away from him every other thought of the mind. This man, born to know the universe, to judge all causes, to govern a whole state, is altogether occupied and taken up with the business of catching a hare. And if he does not lower himself to this, and wants always to be on the strain, he will be more foolish still, because he would raise himself above humanity; and after all he is only a man, that is to say capable of little and of much, of all and of nothing; he is neither angel nor brute, but man.]</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00148"><a id="p_141"/>141</h4>
<p>Men spend their time in following a ball or a hare; it is the pleasure even of kings.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00149"><a id="p_142"/>142</h4>
<p><i>Diversion.</i>—Is not the royal dignity sufficiently great in itself to make its possessor happy by the mere contemplation of what he is? Must he be diverted from this thought like ordinary folk? I see well that a man is made happy by diverting him from the view of his domestic sorrows so as to occupy all his thoughts with the care of dancing well. But will it be the same with a king, and will he be happier in the pursuit of these idle amusements than in the contemplation of his greatness? And what more satisfactory object could be presented to his mind? Would it not be a deprivation of his delight for him to occupy his soul with the thought of how to adjust his steps to the cadence of an air, or of how to throw a [ball] skilfully, instead of leaving it to enjoy quietly the contemplation of the majestic glory which encompasses him? Let us make the trial; let us leave a king all alone to reflect on himself quite at leisure, without any gratification of the senses, without any care in his mind, without society; and we will see that a king without<a id="Page_44" class="pageno" title="[Pg 44]"/> diversion is a man full of wretchedness. So this is carefully avoided, and near the persons of kings there never fail to be a great number of people who see to it that amusement follows business, and who watch all the time of their leisure to supply them with delights and games, so that there is no blank in it. In fact, kings are surrounded with persons who are wonderfully attentive in taking care that the king be not alone and in a state to think of himself, knowing well that he will be miserable, king though he be, if he meditate on self.</p>
<p>In all this I am not talking of Christian kings as Christians, but only as kings.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00150"><a id="p_143"/>143</h4>
<p><i>Diversion.</i>—Men are entrusted from infancy with the care of their honour, their property, their friends, and even with the property and the honour of their friends. They are overwhelmed with business, with the study of languages, and with physical exercise;<a id="FNanchor_71_75"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_71_75" class="fnanchor pginternal">[71]</a> and they are made to understand that they cannot be happy unless their health, their honour, their fortune and that of their friends be in good condition, and that a single thing wanting will make them unhappy. Thus they are given cares and business which make them bustle about from break of day.—It is, you will exclaim, a strange way to make them happy! What more could be done to make them miserable?—Indeed! what could be done? We should only have to relieve them from all these cares; for then they would see themselves: they would reflect on what they are, whence they came, whither they go, and thus we cannot employ and divert them too much. And this is why, after having given them so much business, we advise them, if they have some time for relaxation, to employ it in amusement, in play, and to be always fully occupied.</p>
<p>How hollow and full of ribaldry is the heart of man!</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00151"><a id="p_144"/>144</h4>
<p>I spent a long time in the study of the abstract sciences, and was disheartened by the small number of fellow-students in them. When I commenced the study of man, I saw that these abstract sciences are not suited to man, and that I was wandering farther from my own state in examining them, than others in not knowing them. I pardoned their little knowledge; but I thought at least to find many companions in the study of man, and that it was the true study which is suited to him. I have<a id="Page_45" class="pageno" title="[Pg 45]"/> been deceived; still fewer study it than geometry. It is only from the want of knowing how to study this that we seek the other studies. But is it not that even here is not the knowledge which man should have, and that for the purpose of happiness it is better for him not to know himself?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00152"><a id="p_145"/>145</h4>
<p>[One thought alone occupies us; we cannot think of two things at the same time. This is lucky for us according to the world, not according to God.]</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00153"><a id="p_146"/>146</h4>
<p>Man is obviously made to think. It is his whole dignity and his whole merit; and his whole duty is to think as he ought. Now, the order of thought is to begin with self, and with its Author and its end.</p>
<p>Now, of what does the world think? Never of this, but of dancing, playing the lute, singing, making verses, running at the ring, etc., fighting, making oneself king, without thinking what it is to be a king and what to be a man.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00154"><a id="p_147"/>147</h4>
<p>We do not content ourselves with the life we have in ourselves and in our own being; we desire to live an imaginary life in the mind of others, and for this purpose we endeavour to shine. We labour unceasingly to adorn and preserve this imaginary existence, and neglect the real. And if we possess calmness, or generosity, or truthfulness, we are eager to make it known, so as to attach these virtues to that imaginary existence. We would rather separate them from ourselves to join them to it; and we would willingly be cowards in order to acquire the reputation of being brave. A great proof of the nothingness of our being, not to be satisfied with the one without the other, and to renounce the one for the other! For he would be infamous who would not die to preserve his honour.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00155"><a id="p_148"/>148</h4>
<p>We are so presumptuous that we would wish to be known by all the world, even by people who shall come after, when we shall be no more; and we are so vain that the esteem of five or six neighbours delights and contents us.<a id="Page_46" class="pageno" title="[Pg 46]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00156"><a id="p_149"/>149</h4>
<p>We do not trouble ourselves about being esteemed in the towns through which we pass. But if we are to remain a little while there, we are so concerned. How long is necessary? A time commensurate with our vain and paltry life.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00157"><a id="p_150"/>150</h4>
<p>Vanity is so anchored in the heart of man that a soldier, a soldier's servant, a cook, a porter brags, and wishes to have his admirers. Even philosophers wish for them. Those who write against it want to have the glory of having written well;<a id="FNanchor_72_76"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_72_76" class="fnanchor pginternal">[72]</a> and those who read it desire the glory of having read it. I who write this have perhaps this desire, and perhaps those who will read it ...</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00158"><a id="p_151"/>151</h4>
<p><i>Glory.</i>—Admiration spoils all from infancy. Ah! How well said! Ah! How well done! How well-behaved he is! etc.</p>
<p>The children of Port-Royal, who do not receive this stimulus of envy and glory, fall into carelessness.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00159"><a id="p_152"/>152</h4>
<p><i>Pride.</i>—Curiosity is only vanity. Most frequently we wish to know but to talk. Otherwise we would not take a sea voyage in order never to talk of it, and for the sole pleasure of seeing without hope of ever communicating it.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00160"><a id="p_153"/>153</h4>
<p><i>Of the desire of being esteemed by those with whom we are.</i>—Pride takes such natural possession of us in the midst of our woes, errors, etc. We even lose our life with joy, provided people talk of it.</p>
<p>Vanity: play, hunting, visiting, false shame, a lasting name.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00161"><a id="p_154"/>154</h4>
<p>[I have no friends] to your advantage].</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00162"><a id="p_155"/>155</h4>
<p>A true friend is so great an advantage, even for the greatest lords, in order that he may speak well of them, and back them in their absence, that they should do all to have one. But they should choose well; for, if they spend all their efforts in the interests of fools, it will be of no use, however well these may speak of them; and these will not even speak well of them if<a id="Page_47" class="pageno" title="[Pg 47]"/> they find themselves on the weakest side, for they have no influence; and thus they will speak ill of them in company.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00163"><a id="p_156"/>156</h4>
<p><i>Ferox gens, nullam esse vitam sine armis rati.</i><a id="FNanchor_73_77"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_73_77" class="fnanchor pginternal">[73]</a>—They prefer death to peace; others prefer death to war.</p>
<p>Every opinion may be held preferable to life, the love of which is so strong and so natural.<a id="FNanchor_74_78"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_74_78" class="fnanchor pginternal">[74]</a></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00164"><a id="p_157"/>157</h4>
<p>Contradiction: contempt for our existence, to die for nothing, hatred of our existence.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00165"><a id="p_158"/>158</h4>
<p><i>Pursuits.</i>—The charm of fame is so great, that we like every object to which it is attached, even death.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00166"><a id="p_159"/>159</h4>
<p>Noble deeds are most estimable when hidden. When I see some of these in history (as p. 184)<a id="FNanchor_75_79"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_75_79" class="fnanchor pginternal">[75]</a>, they please me greatly. But after all they have not been quite hidden, since they have been known; and though people have done what they could to hide them, the little publication of them spoils all, for what was best in them was the wish to hide them.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00167"><a id="p_160"/>160</h4>
<p>Sneezing absorbs all the functions of the soul, as well as work does; but we do not draw therefrom the same conclusions against the greatness of man, because it is against his will. And although we bring it on ourselves, it is nevertheless against our will that we sneeze. It is not in view of the act itself; it is for another end. And thus it is not a proof of the weakness of man, and of his slavery under that action.</p>
<p>It is not disgraceful for man to yield to pain, and it is disgraceful to yield to pleasure. This is not because pain comes to us from without, and we ourselves seek pleasure; for it is possible to seek pain, and yield to it purposely, without this kind of baseness. Whence comes it, then, that reason thinks it honourable to succumb under stress of pain, and disgraceful to yield to the attack of pleasure? It is because pain does not tempt and attract us. It is we ourselves who choose it voluntarily, and will it to prevail over us. So that we are masters of<a id="Page_48" class="pageno" title="[Pg 48]"/> the situation; and in this man yields to himself. But in pleasure it is man who yields to pleasure. Now only mastery and sovereignty bring glory, and only slavery brings shame.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00168"><a id="p_161"/>161</h4>
<p><i>Vanity.</i>—How wonderful it is that a thing so evident as the vanity of the world is so little known, that it is a strange and surprising thing to say that it is foolish to seek greatness!</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00169"><a id="p_162"/>162</h4>
<p>He who will know fully the vanity of man has only to consider the causes and effects of love. The cause is a <i>je ne sais quoi</i> (Corneille),<a id="FNanchor_76_80"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_76_80" class="fnanchor pginternal">[76]</a> and the effects are dreadful. This <i>je ne sais quoi</i>, so small an object that we cannot recognise it, agitates a whole country, princes, armies, the entire world.</p>
<p>Cleopatra's nose: had it been shorter, the whole aspect of the world would have been altered.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00170"><a id="p_163"/>163</h4>
<p><i>Vanity.</i>—The cause and the effects of love: Cleopatra.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00171"><a id="p_164"/>164</h4>
<p>He who does not see the vanity of the world is himself very vain. Indeed who do not see it but youths who are absorbed in fame, diversion, and the thought of the future? But take away diversion, and you will see them dried up with weariness. They feel then their nothingness without knowing it; for it is indeed to be unhappy to be in insufferable sadness as soon as we are reduced to thinking of self, and have no diversion.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00172"><a id="p_165"/>165</h4>
<p><i>Thoughts.</i>—<i>In omnibus requiem quæsivi.</i><a id="FNanchor_77_81"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_77_81" class="fnanchor pginternal">[77]</a> If our condition were truly happy, we would not need diversion from thinking of it in order to make ourselves happy.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00173"><a id="p_166"/>166</h4>
<p><i>Diversion.</i>—Death is easier to bear without thinking of it, than is the thought of death without peril.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00174"><a id="p_167"/>167</h4>
<p>The miseries of human life have established all this: as men have seen this, they have taken up diversion.<a id="Page_49" class="pageno" title="[Pg 49]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00175"><a id="p_168"/>168</h4>
<p><i>Diversion.</i>—As men are not able to fight against death, misery, ignorance, they have taken it into their heads, in order to be happy, not to think of them at all.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00176"><a id="p_169"/>169</h4>
<p>Despite these miseries, man wishes to be happy, and only wishes to be happy, and cannot wish not to be so. But how will he set about it? To be happy he would have to make himself immortal; but, not being able to do so, it has occurred to him to prevent himself from thinking of death.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00177"><a id="p_170"/>170</h4>
<p><i>Diversion.</i>—If man were happy, he would be the more so, the less he was diverted, like the Saints and God.—Yes; but is it not to be happy to have a faculty of being amused by diversion?—No; for that comes from elsewhere and from without, and thus is dependent, and therefore subject to be disturbed by a thousand accidents, which bring inevitable griefs.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00178"><a id="p_171"/>171</h4>
<p><i>Misery.</i>—The only thing which consoles us for our miseries is diversion, and yet this it the greatest of our miseries. For it is this which principally hinders us from reflecting upon ourselves, and which makes us insensibly ruin ourselves. Without this we should be in a state of weariness, and this weariness would spur us to seek a more solid means of escaping from it. But diversion amuses us, and leads us unconsciously to death.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00179"><a id="p_172"/>172</h4>
<p>We do not rest satisfied with the present. We anticipate the future as too slow in coming, as if in order to hasten its course; or we recall the past, to stop its too rapid flight. So imprudent are we that we wander in the times which are not ours, and do not think of the only one which belongs to us; and so idle are we that we dream of those times which are no more, and thoughtlessly overlook that which alone exists. For the present is generally painful to us. We conceal it from our sight, because it troubles us; and if it be delightful to us, we regret to see it pass away. We try to sustain it by the future, and think of arranging matters which are not in our power, for a time which we have no certainty of reaching.<a id="Page_50" class="pageno" title="[Pg 50]"/></p>
<p>Let each one examine his thoughts, and he will find them all occupied with the past and the future. We scarcely ever think of the present; and if we think of it, it is only to take light from it to arrange the future. The present is never our end. The past and the present are our means; the future alone is our end.<a id="FNanchor_78_82"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_78_82" class="fnanchor pginternal">[78]</a> So we never live, but we hope to live; and, as we are always preparing to be happy, it is inevitable we should never be so.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00180"><a id="p_173"/>173</h4>
<p>They say that eclipses foretoken misfortune, because misfortunes are common, so that, as evil happens so often, they often foretell it; whereas if they said that they predict good fortune, they would often be wrong. They attribute good fortune only to rare conjunctions of the heavens; so they seldom fail in prediction.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00181"><a id="p_174"/>174</h4>
<p><i>Misery.</i>—Solomon<a id="FNanchor_79_83"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_79_83" class="fnanchor pginternal">[79]</a> and Job have best known and best spoken of the misery of man; the former the most fortunate, and the latter the most unfortunate of men; the former knowing the vanity of pleasures from experience, the latter the reality of evils.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00182"><a id="p_175"/>175</h4>
<p>We know ourselves so little, that many think they are about to die when they are well, and many think they are well when they are near death, unconscious of approaching fever,<a id="FNanchor_80_84"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_80_84" class="fnanchor pginternal">[80]</a> or of the abscess ready to form itself.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00183"><a id="p_176"/>176</h4>
<p>Cromwell<a id="FNanchor_81_85"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_81_85" class="fnanchor pginternal">[81]</a> was about to ravage all Christendom; the royal family was undone, and his own for ever established, save for a little grain of sand which formed in his ureter. Rome herself was trembling under him; but this small piece of gravel having formed there, he is dead, his family cast down, all is peaceful, and the king is restored.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00184"><a id="p_177"/>177</h4>
<p>[Three hosts.<a id="FNanchor_82_86"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_82_86" class="fnanchor pginternal">[82]</a>] Would he who had possessed the friendship of the King of England, the King of Poland, and the Queen of Sweden, have believed he would lack a refuge and shelter in the world?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00185"><a id="p_178"/>178</h4>
<p>Macrobius:<a id="FNanchor_83_87"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_83_87" class="fnanchor pginternal">[83]</a> on the innocents slain by Herod.<a id="Page_51" class="pageno" title="[Pg 51]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00186"><a id="p_179"/>179</h4>
<p>When Augustus learnt that Herod's own son was amongst the infants under two years of age, whom he had caused to be slain, he said that it was better to be Herod's pig than his son.—Macrobius, <i>Sat.</i>, book ii, chap. 4.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00187"><a id="p_180"/>180</h4>
<p>The great and the humble have the same misfortunes, the same griefs, the same passions;<a id="FNanchor_84_88"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_84_88" class="fnanchor pginternal">[84]</a> but the one is at the top of the wheel, and the other near the centre, and so less disturbed by the same revolutions.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00188"><a id="p_181"/>181</h4>
<p>We are so unfortunate that we can only take pleasure in a thing on condition of being annoyed if it turn out ill, as a thousand things can do, and do every hour. He who should find the secret of rejoicing in the good, without troubling himself with its contrary evil, would have hit the mark. It is perpetual motion.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00189"><a id="p_182"/>182</h4>
<p>Those who have always good hope in the midst of misfortunes, and who are delighted with good luck, are suspected of being very pleased with the ill success of the affair, if they are not equally distressed by bad luck; and they are overjoyed to find these pretexts of hope, in order to show that they are concerned and to conceal by the joy which they feign to feel that which they have at seeing the failure of the matter.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00190"><a id="p_183"/>183</h4>
<p>We run carelessly to the precipice, after we have put something before us to prevent us seeing it.</p>
<hr class="c2"/>
<p><a id="Page_52" class="pageno" title="[Pg 52]"/></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00191"><a id="SECTION_III"/>SECTION III</h2>
<h3 id="pgepubid00192">OF THE NECESSITY OF THE WAGER</h3>
<h4 id="pgepubid00193"><a id="p_184"/>184</h4>
<p>A letter to incite to the search after God.</p>
<p>And then to make people seek Him among the philosophers, sceptics, and dogmatists, who disquiet him who inquires of them.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00194"><a id="p_185"/>185</h4>
<p>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, <i>terorrem potius quam religionem</i>.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00195"><a id="p_186"/>186</h4>
<p><i>Nisi terrerentur et non docerentur, improba quasi dominatio videretur</i> (Aug., Ep. 48 or 49), <i>Contra Mendacium ad Consentium</i>.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00196"><a id="p_187"/>187</h4>
<p><i>Order.</i>—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.</p>
<p>Venerable, because it has perfect knowledge of man; lovable, because it promises the true good.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00197"><a id="p_188"/>188</h4>
<p>In every dialogue and discourse, we must be able to say to those who take offence, "Of what do you complain?"</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00198"><a id="p_189"/>189</h4>
<p>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.<a id="Page_53" class="pageno" title="[Pg 53]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00199"><a id="p_190"/>190</h4>
<p>To pity atheists who seek, for are they not unhappy enough? To inveigh against those who make a boast of it.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00200"><a id="p_191"/>191</h4>
<p>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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00201"><a id="p_192"/>192</h4>
<p>To reproach Miton<a id="FNanchor_85_89"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_85_89" class="fnanchor pginternal">[85]</a> with not being troubled, since God will reproach him.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00202"><a id="p_193"/>193</h4>
<p class="c1">Quid fiet hominibus qui minima contemnunt, majora non credunt?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00203"><a id="p_194"/>194</h4>
<p>... 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, <i>Deus absconditus</i>;<a id="FNanchor_86_90"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_86_90" class="fnanchor pginternal">[86]</a> 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?</p>
<p>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<a id="Page_54" class="pageno" title="[Pg 54]"/> 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 priest 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 occupations.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.<a id="Page_55" class="pageno" title="[Pg 55]"/></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>There is nothing more real than this, nothing more terrible. Be we as heroic as we like, that is the end which awaits the noblest life in 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"As I know not whence I come, so I know not whither I go.<a id="Page_56" class="pageno" title="[Pg 56]"/> 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."</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<a id="Page_57" class="pageno" title="[Pg 57]"/> 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?</p>
<p>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 will 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!</p>
<p>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<a id="Page_58" class="pageno" title="[Pg 58]"/> 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.</p>
<p>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 ...</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00204"><a id="p_195"/>195</h4>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Of all their errors, this doubtless is the one which most convicts them of foolishness and blindness, and in which it is<a id="Page_59" class="pageno" title="[Pg 59]"/> easiest to confound them by the first glimmerings of common sense, and by natural feelings.</p>
<p>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 judgment, unless we regulate our course by the truth of that point which ought to be our ultimate end.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 on the importance of this subject without being horrified at conduct so extravagant?</p>
<p>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<a id="Page_60" class="pageno" title="[Pg 60]"/> are, and without seeking enlightenment. "I know not," they say ...</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00205"><a id="p_196"/>196</h4>
<p>Men lack heart; they would not make a friend of it.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00206"><a id="p_197"/>197</h4>
<p>To be insensible to the extent of despising interesting things, and to become insensible to the point which interests us most.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00207"><a id="p_198"/>198</h4>
<p>The sensibility of man to trifles, and his insensibility to great things, indicates a strange inversion.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00208"><a id="p_199"/>199</h4>
<p>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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00209"><a id="p_200"/>200</h4>
<p>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 know 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.</p>
<p>Thus not only the zeal of those who seek Him proves God, but also the blindness of those who seek Him not.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00210"><a id="p_201"/>201</h4>
<p>All the objections of this one and that one only go against themselves, and not against religion. All that infidels say ...</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00211"><a id="p_202"/>202</h4>
<p>[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.]</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00212"><a id="p_203"/>203</h4>
<p><i>Fascinatio nugacitatis.</i><a id="FNanchor_87_91"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_87_91" class="fnanchor pginternal">[87]</a>—That passion may not harm us, let us act as if we had only eight hours to live.<a id="Page_61" class="pageno" title="[Pg 61]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00213"><a id="p_204"/>204</h4>
<p>If we ought to devote eight hours of life, we ought to devote a hundred years.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00214"><a id="p_205"/>205</h4>
<p>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? <i>Memoria hospitis unius diei prætereuntis.</i><a id="FNanchor_88_92"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_88_92" class="fnanchor pginternal">[88]</a></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00215"><a id="p_206"/>206</h4>
<p>The eternal silence of these infinite spaces frightens me.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00216"><a id="p_207"/>207</h4>
<p>How many kingdoms know us not!</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00217"><a id="p_208"/>208</h4>
<p>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?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00218"><a id="p_209"/>209</h4>
<p>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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00219"><a id="p_210"/>210</h4>
<p>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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00220"><a id="p_211"/>211</h4>
<p>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;<a id="Page_62" class="pageno" title="[Pg 62]"/> 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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00221"><a id="p_212"/>212</h4>
<p><i>Instability.</i><a id="FNanchor_89_93"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_89_93" class="fnanchor pginternal">[89]</a>—It is a horrible thing to feel all that we possess slipping away.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00222"><a id="p_213"/>213</h4>
<p>Between us and heaven or hell there is only life, which is the frailest thing in the world.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00223"><a id="p_214"/>214</h4>
<p><i>Injustice.</i>—That presumption should be joined to meanness is extreme injustice.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00224"><a id="p_215"/>215</h4>
<p>To fear death without danger, and not in danger, for one must be a man.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00225"><a id="p_216"/>216</h4>
<p>Sudden death alone is feared; hence confessors stay with lords.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00226"><a id="p_217"/>217</h4>
<p>An heir finds the title-deeds of his house. Will he say, "Perhaps they are forged?" and neglect to examine them?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00227"><a id="p_218"/>218</h4>
<p><i>Dungeon.</i>—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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00228"><a id="p_219"/>219</h4>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Plato, to incline to Christianity.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00229"><a id="p_220"/>220</h4>
<p>The fallacy of philosophers who have not discussed the immortality of the soul. The fallacy of their dilemma in Montaigne.<a id="Page_63" class="pageno" title="[Pg 63]"/></p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00230"><a id="p_221"/>221</h4>
<p>Atheists ought to say what is perfectly evident; now it is not perfectly evident that the soul is material.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00231"><a id="p_222"/>222</h4>
<p><i>Atheists.</i>—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!</p>
<p>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?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00232"><a id="p_223"/>223</h4>
<p>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?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00233"><a id="p_224"/>224</h4>
<p>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?</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00234"><a id="p_225"/>225</h4>
<p>Atheism shows strength of mind, but only to a certain degree.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00235"><a id="p_226"/>226</h4>
<p>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?)</p>
<p>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<a id="Page_64" class="pageno" title="[Pg 64]"/> 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.</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00236"><a id="p_227"/>227</h4>
<p><i>Order by dialogues.</i>—What ought I to do? I see only darkness everywhere. Shall I believe I am nothing? Shall I believe I am God?</p>
<p>"All things change and succeed each other." You are mistaken; there is ...</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00237"><a id="p_228"/>228</h4>
<p>Objection of atheists: "But we have no light."</p>
<h4 id="pgepubid00238"><a id="p_229"/>229</h4>
<p>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 time 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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<p>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<a id="Page_65" class="pageno" title="[Pg 65]"/> world should be created, and that it should not be created, etc.; that original sin should be, and that it should not be.</p>
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<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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<p>Infinite movement, the point which fills everything, the moment of rest; infinite without quantity, indivisible and infinite.</p>
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<p><i>Infinite</i>—<i>nothing.</i>—Our soul is cast into a body, where it finds number, time, dimension. Thereupon it reasons, and calls this nature, necessity, and can believe nothing else.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?<a id="Page_66" class="pageno" title="[Pg 66]"/></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Let us now speak according to natural lights.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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, <i>stultitiam</i>;<a id="FNanchor_90_94"/><a href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18269@[email protected]#Footnote_90_94" class="fnanchor pginternal">[90]</a> 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.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>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,<a id="Page_67" class="pageno" title="[Pg 67]"/> 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; wherever 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.</p>
<p>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 <i>certainty</i> of what is staked and the <i>uncertainty</i> 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<a id="Page_68" class="pageno" title="[Pg 68]"/> 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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>But to show you that this leads you there, it is this which will lessen the passions, which are your stumbling-blocks.</p>
<p><i>The end of this discourse.</i>—Now, what harm will befall you in taking this side? You will be faithful, honest, 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.</p>
<p>"Ah! This discourse transports me, charms me," etc.</p>
<p>If this discourse pleases you and seems impressive, know<a id="Page_69" class="pageno" title="[Pg 69]"/> 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.</p>
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<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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<p class="c1">Rem viderunt, causam non viderunt.</p>
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<p>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<a id="Page_70" class="pageno" title="[Pg 70]"/> signs of His will."—He has done so; but you neglect them. Seek them, therefore; it is well worth it.</p>
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<p><i>Chances.</i>—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.</p>
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<p>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?</p>
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<p><i>Objection.</i>—Those who hope for salvation are so far happy; but they have as a counterpoise the fear of hell.</p>
<p><i>Reply.</i>—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?</p>
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<p>"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.</p>
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<p><i>Order.</i>—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.<a id="Page_71" class="pageno" title="[Pg 71]"/></p>
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