Pascal's Pensées
that our evils are infinite; and, lastly, that death, which threatens us
every moment, must infallibly place us within a few years under the
dreadful necessity of being for ever either annihilated or unhappy.
There is nothing more real than this, nothing more terrible. Be we as
heroic as we like, that is the end which awaits the 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.
Surely then it is a great evil thus to be in doubt, but it is at least
an indispensable duty to seek when we are in such doubt; and thus the
doubter who does not seek is altogether completely unhappy and
completely wrong. And if besides this he is easy and content, professes
to be so, and indeed boasts of it; if it is this state itself which is
the subject of his joy and vanity, I have no words to describe so silly
a creature.
How can people hold these opinions? What joy can we find in the
expectation of nothing but hopeless misery? What reason for boasting
that we are in impenetrable darkness? And how can it happen that the
following argument occurs to a reasonable man?
"I know not who put me into the world, nor what the world is, nor what I
myself am. I am in terrible ignorance of everything. I know not what my
body is, nor my senses, nor my soul, not even that part of me which
thinks what I say, which reflects on all and on itself, and knows itself
no more than the rest. I see those frightful spaces of the universe
which surround me, and I find myself tied to one corner of this vast
expanse, without knowing why I am put in this place rather than in
another, nor why the short time which is given me to live is assigned to
me at this point rather than at another of the whole eternity which was
before me or which shall come after me. I see nothing but infinites on
all sides, which surround me as an atom, and as a shadow which endures
only for an instant and returns no more. All I know is that I must soon
die, but what I know least is this very death which I cannot escape.
"As I know not whence I come, so I know not whither I go. I know only
that, in leaving this world, I fall for ever either into annihilation or
into the hands of an angry God, without knowing to which of these two
states I shall be for ever assigned. Such is my state, full of weakness
and uncertainty. And from all this I conclude that I ought to spend all
the days of my life without caring to inquire into what must happen to
me. Perhaps I might find some solution to my doubts, but I will not take
the trouble, nor take a step to seek it; and after treating with scorn
those who are concerned with this care, I will go without foresight and
without fear to try the great event, and let myself be led carelessly to
death, uncertain of the eternity of my future state."
Who would desire to have for a friend a man who talks in this fashion?
Who would choose him out from others to tell him of his affairs? Who
would have recourse to him in affliction? And indeed to what use in life
could one put him?
In truth, it is the glory of religion to have for enemies men so
unreasonable: and their opposition to it is so little dangerous that it
serves on the contrary to establish its truths. For the Christian faith
goes mainly to establish these two facts, the corruption of nature, and
redemption by Jesus Christ. Now I contend that if these men do not serve
to prove the truth of the redemption by the holiness of their behaviour,
they at least serve admirably to show the corruption of nature by
sentiments so unnatural.
Nothing is so important to man as his own state, nothing is so
formidable to him as eternity; and thus it is not natural that there
should be men indifferent to the loss of their existence, and to the
perils of everlasting suffering. They are quite different with regard to
all other things. They are afraid of mere trifles; they foresee them;
they feel them. And this same man who spends so many days and nights in
rage and despair for the loss of office, or for some imaginary insult to
his honour, is the very one who knows without anxiety and without
emotion that he will lose all by death. It is a monstrous thing to see
in the same heart and at the same time this sensibility to trifles and
this strange insensibility to the greatest objects. It is an
incomprehensible enchantment, and a supernatural slumber, which
indicates as its cause an all-powerful force.
There must be a strange confusion in the nature of man, that he should
boast of being in that state in which it seems incredible that a single
individual should be. However, experience has shown me so great a
number of such persons that the fact would be surprising, if we did not
know that the greater part of those who trouble themselves about the
matter are disingenuous, and not in fact what they say. They are people
who have heard it said that it is the fashion to be thus daring. It is
what they call shaking off the yoke, and they try to imitate this. But
it would not be difficult to make them understand how greatly they
deceive themselves in thus seeking esteem. This is not the way to gain
it, even I say among those men of the world who take a healthy view of
things, and who know that the only way to succeed in this life is to
make ourselves appear honourable, faithful, judicious, and capable of
useful service to a friend; because naturally men love only what may be
useful to them. Now, what do we gain by hearing it said of a man that he
has now thrown off the yoke, that he does not believe there is a God who
watches our actions, that he considers himself the sole master of his
conduct, and that he thinks he is accountable for it only to himself?
Does he think that he has thus brought us to have henceforth complete
confidence in him, and to look to him for consolation, advice, and help
in every need of life? Do they profess to have delighted us by telling
us that they hold our soul to be only a little wind and smoke,
especially by telling us this in a haughty and self-satisfied tone of
voice? Is this a thing to say gaily? Is it not, on the contrary, a thing
to say sadly, as the saddest thing in the world?
If they thought of it seriously, they would see that this is so bad a
mistake, so contrary to good sense, so opposed to decency and so removed
in every respect from that good breeding which they seek, that they
would be more likely to correct than to pervert those who had an
inclination to follow them. And indeed, make them give an account of
their opinions, and of the reasons which they have for doubting
religion, and they will say to you things so feeble and so petty, that
they 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!
Thus those who only feign these opinions would be very unhappy, if they
restrained their natural feelings in order to make themselves the most
conceited of men. If, at the bottom of their heart, they are troubled at
not having more light, let them not disguise the fact; this avowal will
not be shameful. The only shame is to have none. Nothing reveals more an
extreme weakness of mind than not to know the misery of a godless man.
Nothing is more indicative of a bad disposition of heart than not to
desire the truth of eternal promises. Nothing is more dastardly than to
act with bravado before God. Let them then leave these impieties to
those who are sufficiently ill-bred to be really capable of them. Let
them at least be honest men, if they cannot be Christians. Finally, let
them recognise that there are two kinds of people one can call
reasonable; those who serve God with all their heart because they know
Him, and those who seek Him with all their heart because they do not
know Him.
But as for those who live without knowing Him and without seeking Him,
they judge themselves so little worthy of their own care, that they are
not worthy of the care of others; and it needs all the charity of the
religion which they despise, not to despise them even to the point of
leaving them to their folly. But because this religion obliges us always
to regard them, so long as they are in this life, as capable of the
grace which can enlighten them, and to believe that they may, in a
little time, be more replenished with faith than we are, and that, on
the other hand, we may fall into the blindness wherein they are, we must
do for them what we would they should do for us if we were in their
place, and call upon them to have pity upon themselves, and to take at
least some steps in the endeavour to find light. Let them give to
reading this some of the hours which they otherwise employ so uselessly;
whatever aversion they may bring to the task, they will perhaps gain
something, and at least will not lose much. But as for those who bring
to the task perfect sincerity and a real desire to meet with truth,
those I hope will be satisfied and convinced of the proofs of a religion
so divine, which I have here collected, and in which I have followed
somewhat after this order ...
195
Before entering into the proofs of the Christian religion, I find it
necessary to point out the sinfulness of those men who live in
indifference to the search for truth in a matter which is so important
to them, and which touches them so nearly.
Of all their errors, this doubtless is the one which most convicts them
of foolishness and blindness, and in which it is easiest to confound
them by the first glimmerings of common sense, and by natural feelings.
For it is not to be doubted that the duration of this life is but a
moment; that the state of death is eternal, whatever may be its nature;
and that thus all our actions and thoughts must take such different
directions according to the state of that eternity, that it is
impossible to take one step with sense and judgment, unless we regulate
our course by the truth of that point which ought to be our ultimate
end.
There is nothing clearer than this; and thus, according to the
principles of reason, the conduct of men is wholly unreasonable, if they
do not take another course.
On this point, therefore, we condemn those who live without thought of
the ultimate end of life, who let themselves be guided by their own
inclinations and their own pleasures without reflection and without
concern, and, as if they could annihilate eternity by turning away their
thought from it, think only of making themselves happy for the moment.
Yet this eternity exists, and death, which must open into it, and
threatens them every hour, must in a little time infallibly put them
under the dreadful necessity of being either annihilated or unhappy for
ever, without knowing which of these eternities is for ever prepared for
them.
This is a doubt of terrible consequence. They are in peril of eternal
woe; and thereupon, as if the matter were not worth the trouble, they
neglect to inquire whether this is one of those opinions which people
receive with too credulous a facility, or one of those which, obscure in
themselves, have a very firm, though hidden, foundation. Thus they know
not whether there be truth or falsity in the matter, nor whether there
be strength or weakness in the proofs. They have them before their eyes;
they refuse to look at them; and in that ignorance they choose all that