Port Royal and the Jesuits: Blaise Pascal

To Blaise Pascal belongs the most popular name associated with Port Royal. His fame is not the exclusive property of any community; it is shared by his country. And there is a certain typical character about his career which, to tho admiration that is felt 10 his genius, adds a deeper and more universal interest. In his fiery soul there was intensified that conflict between the material and spiritual elements of our being which all men in some degree experience. The grandeur of life and its glory he saw with clear and solemn eyes; but also its shadowy mysteries and griefs. In his body, feeble and often racked with pain, dwelt a mind that could range through the wide world of thought. Capable and yet wanting much, gifted with wonderful powers yet weak, creative and constructive in desire yet lacking the means and opportunity of perfected achievement, caged and barred and yet strong in pinion—is not this the history of many a human soul, till struggling out of earthly limitations it rejoices in the free expanse of heaven?

This remarkable man was born in 1623, at Clermont in Auvergne, and was the only son of Etienne Pascal, President of the Court of Aids in that City. The family had long boasted a patentof nobility, hut was of "parliamentary" rather than noble condition. Blaise was still scarcely more than an infant when his mother died. His father, anxious for the welfare of his children, determined to devote himself to their education, and surrendering his office to his brother, removed to Paris. Here his tastes found free development, and in congenial society his own mind shared in the intellectual fife of the capital. At his house some of the first mathematicians of the day assembled; and to their meetings may be traced the French Academy of Sciences, first incorporated in 1G66. Blaise was an eager listener to tho conversations of these scientific guests; and at an early age gave evidence of unusual ability. When only eleven years old, he composed a small treatise Od Sounds, in which he endeavoured to show why the sound made by striking a porcelain plate with a knife ceases as soon as the plate is touched by the hand. But these indications were not altogether pleasing to his father, who feared that too keen a relish for the sciences might distract him from those classic studies which he deemed the most important part of education, as both disciplining and refining the mind, and tending to foster a reflective spirit. He, therefore, refused to give the boy any mathematical instruction; and in answer to his repeated solicitations, promised only that he should be taught geometry when he had learned Latin and Greek.

Etienne Pascal's mistake is a notable instance of a common error, which, for the sake of a theory, or more often of a preconceived plan, would thwart the natural dispositions of a child. Nature is usually stronger than the pedagogue, and it is better that she should be helped to the full use of her powers, than maimed and weakened by enforced constraints. It is wiser to follow her suggestions, so as to control them, than to contend against them and yet not succeed. So Etienne found it. The incident which led to this discovery is recorded in the affectionate memoir of an elder sister. Mathematical books were locked up, and when mathematical friends came, the child was sent out of the way. "My brother," says the sister, "perceiving this opposition, asked my father one day what this science of geometry was; he told him in general terms that it was the way to make correct figures, and to find the proportions which they bear to each other, and at the same time forbade him to speak of it again, or to think of it any more. But his mind could not remain within these limits, after it had these simple means of escape —^that mathematics, namely, is the way to make figures infallibly correct: he began to meditate on the subject in his play hours, and, being alone in a room where he was accustomed to amuse himself, took a piece of charcoal, and drew figures upon the boards; trying how to make, for example, a circle which should be perfectly round, a triangle whose sides and angles should be equal, and other such things. All this he discovered by himself, and afterwards investigated the relative properties of figures. But as my father's care to hide all these things from him had been so great, he did not know even their names. He was obliged to make definitions for himself; he called a circle a round, a line a bar, and so on with the rest. After these definitions he made axioms, and at last, perfect demonstrations; and as, in these matters, one thing follows upon another, he pushed his researches so far, that he came to Proposition xxxii. of the First Book of Euclid. As he was engaged upon this, my father came into the room where he was, without my brother's hearing him, and found him so engrossed, that it was long before he perceived his approach. It is impossible to say which was the more surprised ; the son to see his father, on account of the express prohibition which he had given, or the father to see his son in the midst of all these things. But the wonder of the latter was much greater when, having asked him what he was doing, he replied, that he was trying to find out the theorem which form? Proposition xxxii. of the First Book of Euclid. My father asked him what had made him think of investigating that; he said, that it was because he had found out such another thing; upon which, the same question being repeated, he told him other demonstrations which he had made; and finally, still going backwards, and always explaining himself, by help of his terms 'round' and 'bar,' he came to his definitions and his axioms. My father was so amazed at the grandeur and power of this genius, that he left him without saying a word; and went to the house of M. Le Pailleur, who was his intimate friend, and also very learned. When he arrived there, he stood motionless, like a man out of his mind. M. Le Pailleur, seeing this, and noticing that he was shedding tears, was shocked, and begged him not to delay the communication of the cause of his trouble. My father answered, 'I do not weep for sorrow, but for joy. You know the pains I have taken to keep my son from any knowledge of geometry, lest it should divert him from his other studies; nevertheless, see what he has done!' Upon that, he shewed him all that he had discovered; how, so to speak, the child had invented mathematics. M. Le Pailleur was not less surprised than my father had been, and told him that he did not think it right to keep such a mind captive any longer, or to hide this knowledge from it, and that without holding him back any more, he must let him see books."

With the assistance from this time afforded him, Blaise Pascal made rapid advancement; and while yet a youth, he was able to take his place among the learned men who frequented his father's house. The family subsequently, after some vicissitudes, removed to Rouen; and there, when scarcely nineteen years old, he conceived the idea of his famous arithmetical machine by which he hoped to lessen or obviate the tedious processes of mental calculation. It is said to have been first suggested by the monotonous toil in which he saw his father involved when endeavouring to arrange the disordered finances of the province. To carry out his conception cost some years of anxious labour; one model after another had to be made, not fewer than fifty; and the incompetence or treachery of workmen often sorely tried him. His mind meanwhile was directed towards another subject then occupying the attention of philosophers, namely, the weight of the atmosphere; and by means of a simple experiment he was enabled to determine the question in a manner that left no doubt as to the true explanation of the phenomena observed.

The intense application with which Pascal pursued his studies, told early upon his physical strength, and gradually undermined his health. From the time, we are told, that he was eighteen years of age to the hour of his death he did not pass a day without pain. In 1647 he was attacked by a paralytic affection which, for a while, almost deprived him of the use of his limbs. Not long after the family removed again to Paris; and following the advice of his physicians, he relaxed his studies, and was induced to enter into the amusements and society of that gay city. So large a nature, however, could not be absorbed in the small vanities of life; and there is little doubt that the experiences of this period helped to enrich and ripen, and make more deeply human, his philosophy. An accident soon brought back his thoughts from the world into another channel. One day he was taking his usual drive in a coach and four, when passing over the bridge of Neuilly two of the horses became ungovernable, and swerving from their course fell into the river. There was no parapet at that point, but happily the traces broke, and the carriage was stayed on the very verge of the descent. It was a great shock to the feeble frame of Pascal; he fainted; and so agitated was his nervous system that afterwards in many a sleepless night the scene vividly returned. This event he appears to have regarded as an admonition to break off all worldly engagements, and devote himself wholly to God.

There had long dwelt in the heart of Pascal a deep feeling of religiousness. The influence of Port Royal had extended to his father's household. When Etienne Pascal, some years before, once broke his leg, he was tended in his illness by two gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who brought with them into the family the maxims of that community. Blaise was the first to feel the inspiration of their example; and when a little later his own failing health inclined him to pious meditations, and gave the opportunity, this new sense of a higher and a holier existence strengthened within him. Still more was he affected by the devotedness of his sister Jacqueline, who became a nun under the Mere Angelique, and laid her rare gifts at the feet of the church. It was not many days now before Pascal's own resolution was finally taken. This last incident decided him; and he too sought and found a place among the solitaries of Port Royal. After his death a singular document was found, bearing date November 23, 1654, about the time of this memorable accident, stitched up in his waistcoat, and evidently worn from day to day. Its brief disjointed sentences seem to indicate the thoughts which swayed him.

. . . "God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob,

Not of philosophers and wise men.

Certainty. Certainty. Joy. Peace.

God of Jesus Christ.

'My God and your God.'— John x. 17.

'Thy God shall be my God.'—Ruth.

Forgetfulness of the world and of all save God."

When Pascal joined the Port Royalists, they were already involved in controversy, and beset with enemies. Great mysteries of life there arc which will always remain subjects of debate; but the vehemence with which Port Royal was assailed was not the fruit of deeper thought. It was its purer faith, its sterner morality, which excited jealousy and anger. The great signal of controversy was given by the posthumous publication of the Augustinus of Jansenius, the Bishop of Ypres, and the friend of St. Cyran, a work of immense labour devoted to the exposition of the Augustinian theology. He was a man of simple habits and true piety, of vigorous mind and indefatigable industry. The day he gave to acts of charity, the night to prayer and study; of the twenty-four hours, rarely more than four to sleep. He died in the fulfilment of his duty, visiting from house to house at a time when the plague was desolating the neighbourhood, and people fled in terror; dressing loathsome wounds with his own hands, bringing food and medicines, till he himself suddenly fell a victim. Within a few months alter the appearance of his book, the war of pamphlets began. The papal bull, which interdicted discussion on the doctrines of grace, was disregarded. St. Cyran in his prison at Vincennes, welcomed the took, which indeed was in part his own, with exultation. "It was the book of devotion," he said, "of these latter days—it would last as long as the Church. After St. Paul and St. Augustine, no one had written concerning grace like Jansen." The recluses of Port Royal took generally the same side. Presently the matter came under the consideration of the Faculty of Theology in Paris; later still it was referred to the Pope. Five propositions were drawn up, embodying certain theological subtleties, which it was afterwards alleged the book contained, and the condemnation of which was formally procured. Antoine Arnauld was among the first of the Port loyalists to enter the lists in defence of the friend of St. Cyran, and soon provoked the Jesuit party in the Sorbonne to move for his expulsion from the Faculty. His assertion that the five propositions had not been taught by Jansen, but were the fabrication of his enemies, was censured as contemptuous towards the papal authority; and another statement, as to the question at issue respecting special grace, was condemned as heretical. Finally, with many others, he was expelled from the Sorbonne, and obliged to take refuge in concealment. It would carry us far beyond our limits to enter upon the details of this controversy, which ranged over some of the most intricate subjects of enquiry, and was embittered not only by theological hate, but by political passions and the scheming bigotry of a corrupt priesthood. Still more violent measures of repression were taken; another Bull was obtained, declaring not only that these now famous propositions were heretical, but that they were likewise extracted from Jansenius; and under the influence of the Jesuits, a formulary was drawn up, in accordance with this view, which the Jansenists were required to sign. They, however, distinguished between the Papal assertion of fact and of right, admitting the infallibility of the Pope on the question of heresy, but denying his authority on the question of fact. It was a dangerous distinction, and could not save Port Royal in the troublous times which came upon it.

One day, when the long contest at the Sorbonne was drawing to a close, Arnauld was urged by his friends to make some effort to instruct the public as to the matters at issue. Great misapprehensions prevailed, and he consented to try. Pascal, who was then thirty-three years of age, and who had been about a year under the direction of Singlin, and for some time residont at Port Royal des Champs, was present when the popular statement thus suggested was produced. The manuscript was read, and received without applause. "I see," said Arnauld, "that you do not like my paper, and I think that you are right. But you," he continued, turning to Pascal, "you are young, and ought to do something." Pascal, we are told, replied modestly, that "he thought he could sketch a rough draft, which his friends might polish and correct into the desired shape;" and the next day he brought "A Letter written to a Provincial by one of his Friends." It was heartily approved, and immediately published. This was the first of the celebrated "Provincial Letters," which attracted the attention of all Europe, and will last as long as the language of France. So great was its success, that it was speedily followed by a second; and the series was continued at irregular intervals through the next fourteen months. Every effort was made to discover the authorship, for they bore only the pseudonym of Louis de Montalte. Seals were placed upon the office-doors of a suspected printer, but his wife carried away the heavy forms under her apron to a neighbour's, where that very night 300 copies of the second Letter were printed, and 1,200 more the next day. Pascal, who was never long together resident at Port Royal, had taken up his abode with his brother-in-law, when once a Jesuit called, and hinted that suspicions began to point towards him; but little did he think that in the room below Pascal was then actually living, and that behind the curtains of the very bed by which he was standing some sheets of another obnoxious Letter, the seventh, fresh from the press, were laid out to dry. The secret was not soon discovered, but the interest never flagged. With natural ease, in a style clear as crystal, Pascal informs his supposed friend of the points in dispute;

with keen analysis and most subtle irony, carrying the reader irresistibly along. Not all the Letters were written with the same rapidity. Some he wrote six or seven times; the eighteenth he is said to have rewritten thirteen times; the composition of a single Letter indeed was sometimes the labour of twenty days. Gradually, as the exigencies of the controversy demanded, he came into direct collision with the Jesuits; and, as his indignation was further stimulated by reading the works of their celebrated casuist Escobar, he attacked their morality with all the force of his genius. The profane system of compromises by which they had sought to maintain their influence, to accommodate to sinful consciences the Divine precepts which they could not wholly forget, he ruthlessly unveils. Never was there a more complete exposure. By a series of skilful extracts, he makes the Jesuits condemn themselves. By their doctrine of probability, which allowed a man to follow, as probably true, the opinion of any casuist of repute on specified cases of conscience, all sorts of iniquity were excused; for casuists took opposite views, and as neither view, under the supposition, could be wrong, every man was virtually at liberty to please himself. So also, to take away the sinfulness from a sinful act, all that needed to be done was to direct the attention, in the performance of it, towards a lawful object. There was no vice or impiety which could not, under some such cover, find a shelter. These abominations Pascal brings into the brilliant light of his searching intellect. It was a great service done for God, and for the world. The Jesuits could not sustain the combat; they burnt his book by the hands of the common hangman; but no worthy answer, or that made any impression on the public, appeared. Long years afterwards these Letters were called "the immortal liars;" even Chateaubriand repeats the sentiment; and that their influence is still felt is seen in the fact that not many years ago an edition was published accompanied by a Roman Catholic refutation of their "mis-statements." "The best comedies of Moiiere," said Voltaire, "have not more wit than the first Provincial Letters: Bossuet has nothing more sublime than the later ones." Critics as great have declared with regard to their felicitous style that, more than anything else, they helped to fix the French language on its present basis.

The last few years of Pascal's life were a long, languishing illness. Once again, in a sleepless night, his mathematical powers woke into activity, and he conceived a series of beautiful discoveries relating to the Cycloid, which had long been a subject of contention amongst geometers. His mind was also occupied with the idea of a work bearing on the evidence of Christianity; fragments only were penned, on scraps of paper of any kind that happened to be at hand,—" Thoughts, " imperfect and disconnected, which after his death were published—ranging over the topics of deepest human interest, and revealing a soul, great not only in its apprehensions of spiritual truth, but in conflict, and in patient strength. Strangely enough, our generation has witnessed the publication of the first complete and genuine edition of these "Thoughts," and thereby borne its testimony to the genius of their author. It is sad to think that' a mind so vigorous should have been deluded into errors that tended still more to enfeeble his sickly frame, and darken the shadows of his hours of pain. His austerities and mortifications were carried to an excess; he would live on meagre and insufficient fare, and discharge the most menial offices; and he wore a girdle of sharp points, which he pressed with his elbow into his side when he found himself indulging in worldly pleasure. He shrunk even from the wholesome sympathies of sisterly affection. And all this, though ho did not think his sufferings meritorious. His unflinching love of truth appeared, when in the midst of the troubles of Port Royal he refused to sign the formulary; and as clearer knowledge dawned upon him, changed his earlier opinion, declaring that no concession should be made, that no safe distinction could be drawn; between the questions of "right" and "fact." There was another great teacher near at hand, to lift the curtain from the infinite beyond, and show him the truth of God in nobler, more harmonious developments. Death approached. His last wish was to be carried to the hospital of the incurables, and to die amongst the poor. This wish he was induced to abandon, on a promise, that if he recovered, he should be at liberty to consecrate his life and property entirely to their service; but it was otherwise ordered. He died on the 19th of August, 1662, having not long completed his thirty-ninth year.

"We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most—feels "the noblest—acts the best."