Pascal

he executive completeness of his mind. But the other is the worthier and nobler tribute to the greatness of his soul, and the depth and power of his

tionings which the deeper scrutiny of human life and destiny is ever renewing in the human heart. No answer may have been found in them, but every spiritual mind must have so far met in the author of the 'Pensées' a kin

1663; and it was important that nothing should be done by the Port Royalists to disturb this peace. It had been agreed, therefore, that all passages bearing on the controversy with the Jesuits and the Formulary should be omitted; but beyond this Madame Périer desired that the volume should only contain what proceeded from her brother, and in the precise form and style in which it ha

or changing anything. "These fragments," says M. Faugère, "which sickness and death had left unfinished, suffered, without ceasing to be immortal, all the mutilation which an exaggerated prudence or a misdirected zeal could suggest, with the view not only of guarding their orthodoxy, but of embellishing their style-the style of the author of the 'Provincials'!" "There are not," he adds, "twenty s

ost part so obscure and imperfectly formed as to be illegible to all who had not made it a special study. The papers were pasted or bundled together without any natural connection, parts containing the same piece being sometimes intersected and sometimes widely separated from one another. If the ed

ergone any new rédaction. Unhappily Pascal suffered in the hands of the Encyclopedists, as he had previously suffered in the hands of the Jansenists and the Sorbonne. The first editors had expunged whatever might seem at variance with orthodoxy. Condorcet suppressed or modified whatever partook of a too lofty enthusiasm or a too fervent piety. It became a current

by Des Molets and others, are included and arranged in a new order. But meritorious as were Bossut's editorial labours as a whole, they did not attempt any restoration of the 'Pensées' to their original text; and even the new fragments published by him were not left untouched. He embodied, for example, the famous conversation with De Saci, but without giving De Sa

ritics admired his style, the veritable Pascal of the 'Pensées' had all the time lain concealed in a mass of manuscripts in the National Library. Such a story, it may be imagined, did not lack any force in the manner in which M. Cousin told it; and an eager desire arose for a new and complete edition

tle importance, and others more properly belonging to an edition of the 'Provincial Letters' than of the 'Pensées.' But, whether it be the result of early association or of greater familiarity with M. Faugère's pages, I own sti

asily overstepped, and would have left room for belief that greater liberties had been taken than was actually the case." "The manuscripts," he adds, "have been read, or rather studied, page by

at it is possible any longer to discover the true order of the fragments. He does not believe that any such order existed in the author's own mind. He had a general design, and certain great divisions; a preface was sketched here, and a chapter there; but in throwing his thoughts upon paper as they presented themselves to him, he did not stop to assort them, or to bring them into any fitting connection. What Pascal himself did not do, M. Havet does not think it possible any editor can do. Accordingly, he recurs to the old, if somewhat arbitrary, arrangement of Bossut, as the mo

so as to give the idea of a connected book in defence of religion, is, so far, arbitrary-the work, that is to say, of the editor rather than of the author; and secondly, that there is no difficulty, from the original preface and otherw

the two lectures delivered by the latter before the Royal Academy of Sciences in Berlin in 1847, are highly deserving of perusal by all students of philosophy. [164] But the issue is an absurd one, before the combatants are agreed as to the meaning of the word Scepticism, and before the reader has before him the views of Pascal, and the manner in which he defines his own attitude in relation to what he considered the two great

r the same reason, we shall give such passages as appear to us not always the most just or accurate in thought, but the most characteristic or representative of the veritable Pascal, whose true words were so long concealed from the world. We cannot do better, in the first instance, than note what so great a mathematician has to say of geometry and the "mathematical mind," compared with the naturally acute mind ("l'esprit de finesse"), betwixt which he draws an interesting para

we wish to prove, suppose others which precede them; and so it is clear we can never arrive at absolutely first principles. In pushing our researches to the utmost, we necessarily reach primitive words that admit of no further definition, and principles so obvious, that they require no proof. Man can never, therefore, from natural incompetency, possess an absolutely complete science. . . . But geometry, while inferior in its aims, is absolutely certain within its limits. It neither defines everything, nor attempts to prove everything, and must, so far, yield its pretension to be an absolute science; but it sets out from things universally admitted as clear and constant, and is therefore perfectly true, because in consonance with nature. Its functi

. .

do not see all that is before them, and being accustomed to the plain and palpable principles of geometry, and never reasoning until they have well ascertained and handled their principles, they lose themselves in matters of intellectual subtlety, where the principles are not so easily laid hold of. Such things are seen with difficulty; they are felt rather than seen. They are so delicate and multitudinous that it requires a very delicate and neat sense to appreciate them. . . . So it is as rare for geometers to be men of subtle wit as it is for the latter to be geometers, because geometers like to treat these nicer matters geometrically, and so make themselves ridiculous; they like to commence with definition, and then go on to principles-a mode whic

he results extremely delicate, so that only very great accuracy of mind can trace them. Such men would probably not be great geometers, because geometry involves a multitude of principles, and because the mind which may penetrate thoroughly a few principles to their depth may not be at all able to penetrate things which combine a multitude of principles. . . . There are two sorts of mind: the

n "Eloquence and Style." So great a master of the art of e

es sometimes; they are not always upon their thrones-they tire

those who, after having drawn a picture, st

lect upon them. It consists, therefore, in a correspondence established between the mind and heart of the hearers on the one side, and the thoughts and expressions used on the other, and so implies a close study of the human heart in order to know all its springs, and to

ntle suasion, not by constraint

The place-the assembly-excites them, and draws forth their

n who make false windows for the sake of symmetry. Their ru

hat is true and real; but that which i

ilst those of good taste who in looking into a book think to find a man, are altogether surprised to find an author. Plus poe

arch. No Paris, but the capital of the kingdom. There are places in which it is nece

e would spoil the sense, it is better to let it alone. This stamps it as fitting, and it is a stupid feeli

h express it. The meaning derives its dignity f

er in writing a book is to kno

knowing it, so that we are led to like the man who discovers so much to us. For he does not show us his own good, but ours; and this

e same ball; but one plays better than the other. They might as well accuse me of using old words, as if the same thoughts dif

rong, but such as it is-and the thing that pleases us. All that is formed to this standard delights us,-house, song, writing, v

dge of my work in the course of doing it. I must do as painters do, plac

ucauld or Horace Walpole memorable, if not always wise or kind. But there are many of the Thoughts which show that the penitent of Port Royal had looke

something else. In order to be reminded of our duty, it is necessary to propose to do something that we dislike; t

ce? The man of less talent? But I am as clever as he. Then we must fight it out. But he has four lackeys and I have only one. That is a visible difference. We ha

enty a degree of acceptance, publicity, and respect which another can hardl

yet it is very proper. It seems to say, I would gladly inconvenience myself if

y seat is mine.' There is the beginning and

there was nothing hateful in the I itself but the displeasure which it gives. But if I hate it because it is essentially unjust, because it makes itself the centre of everything, I shall hate it always. In short, this I

f love. The cause is a je ne sais quoi, an indefinable trifle-the effects are monstrous. If t

e apology I should not have known that there was any harm don

k well of you? Then neve

of original mind. It is your commonplace people t

e conflicts of opinion; but the plain truth we do not care to look at. To regard it with pleasure, we must see it gradually emerging from the conte

ss has to make them intemperate. Men are not ashamed not to be so virtuous as he; and it seems excusable not

at these abstract studies are not suited to him, and that in diving into them I wandered farther from my real object than those who were ignorant of them, and I forgave men for not having attended to th

ing judges of it. They are not specifically marked out. When they enter a room, they speak of the subject on hand. Th

as being a clever poet; a bad mark that he should only be referr

d. But then I must be doing mathematics; he would turn me into a proposition. Another is a good soldier; he woul

f a man loves a woman for her beauty, does he love her? No; for the smallpox, which will destroy her beauty without killing her, will cause him to love her no more. And if any one

ing? Epictetus asks also, Why are we not annoyed if any one tells us that we are unwell in the head, and yet are angry if they tell us that we reason falsely or choo

urally hate

all our actions-desire of our volunt

ls, that it would be folly of

y necessary; and whoever doubts this does

er fine comedy there may have been in t

ghteous, who believe themselves sinners; an

ey believe the miracles of Vespasian to

perfectly clear, but it is not perfe

ce of mind, but only u

ucauld could hardly express himself more bitterly than he does now and then when he fixes his clear gaze upon the folly, the vanity, the weaknesses which make up man's customary life, and the deceits which he practises upon himself and his

. . . Our magistrates well understand this mystery. . . . Save for their crimson robes, ermine, palaces of justice, fleur-de-lis, they would never have duped the world. Where would the physician be without his 'cassock and mule,' and the theologian without his 'square cap and flowing

s to make many of his cynicisms his own. This is not to be denied. "Montaigne is right. Custom should be followed because it is custom, and because it is found to be established, without inquiry whether it be reasonable or not." Yet he puts in a caveat, as we shall see more fully afterwards, just when he seems most to have identified himself with the representative of scepticism. In blindly following custom, he reserves "those matters which are not con

n a passage often quoted and emphasised, "the Cartesian manner of explaining the formation of all things." "I cannot forgive Descartes," he said. "He would willingly in all his philosophy have done without God, if he could; but he could not get on without letting him give the world a fillip to set it agoing: after that, he has nothing more to do with God." Whether he had studied Descartes or not, he evidently did not share the enthusiasm of Arnauld and others for his philosophy. He even spoke of it as "useless, uncertain, and troublesome-nay, as ridiculous." [177] He has added, in that brusque, rapi

quoted clearly indicates they were-to be one-sided and often extravagant. Pascal, of all men, is not to be measured by his strong expressions. His intellectual nature, while profound, was narrow and intense. He put his whole soul into what moved him for the time; and a certain excess of passionate intellectual emotion evidently speaks in some of the most striking of the 'Pensées.' We may imagine how in some-perhaps in many-cases they would have been toned down had he lived to revise and refashion them into a harmonious whole. That interior elaboration,-"a kind of second creati

rational philosophy. The very exaggerations of his language, now on this side and now on that, show that he himself is more than either, as his own words bear. "It is necessary," he says, "to have three qualities-those of the Pyrrhonist, of the geometrician (the dogmatist), and of the humble Christian

nowhere in any of the Thoughts so complete an exhibition of his point of view; and all the editors who have most entered into Pascal's spirit-Sain

Pyrrhonism (which is his own expression), it is always Montaigne that he has before him. Montaigne is Pyrrhonist par excellence; and undoubtedly the famous Essays had greatly fascinated Pascal, like many others in his generation. He was constantly drawn to them as embodying one, and that a deep, phase of his own experience. He felt his own thought expressed in many pages of Montaigne, and had that favour for the Essays that every thoug

the impression made by Pascal upon De Saci, and how the brilliancy of power which had charmed all the world could not be hidden within the shades of Port Royal. Ignorant of the Fathers of the Church, he had found by his own mental and spiritual penetration the very truths to be met with in them; and De Saci seemed to see another St Augustine before him in the wonderful talk of the gifted penitent. It was his practice in dealing with his penitents to adapt his conversation to their peculiar powers. If he spoke with M. Champagne, for example, he talked with him of painting

irid. 11), 'I have lost that; say rather, I have restored it. My son is dead; I have surrendered him. My wife is dead; I have given her up.' And so of every other good. . . . While its use is permitted, regard it as a good belonging to others, as a traveller does in an inn. You should not wish,' he adds, 'that things be as you desire, but you should desire them to be as they are.' . . . It is your duty to play well the part assigned to you, but to choose the part is the act of Another. Have alw

his obligations; that such means are always within his own power, that happiness is to be sought by things within our reach, since God has given us them for this very end. He points out in what our freedom consists: goods, life, esteem are not in our power, and therefore do not lead to God; but none can force the mind to believe what is false, nor the will to love that which will make it miserable. These two powers are therefore free; and b

oubts. His scepticism returns upon itself in a perpetual circle without repose, opposing equally those who maintain that all is uncertain, and those who maintain that nothing is, so utterly indisposed is he to any fixity. In this doubt which doubts itself, and this ignorance which is ignorant of itself, is to be found the essence of his thought. He cannot express it by any positive term; for if he was to say that he doubts, he betrays himself by making it certain that he doubts; and this being for

upon what principles they rest, and presses them to point them out. He examines all that they bring forward, and so searches them by his wonderful penetration as to show the hollowness of what passes for the most clear and established truths. He inquires if the soul knows anything whatever-if it knows itself; whether it is substance or accident, body or spirit; what is each of these things, and if there is anything belonging to some order different from either; if the soul knows its own body; if it knows what matter is, or can distinguish the innumerable varieties of body produced from matter; how it can reason if it is material, and how it can be united to

, and taking that to be true and good which at first appears to be so. This is why he follows everywhere the evidence of the senses and the notions of the community. . . . In this manner, he says, there is nothing extravagant in his conduct. He does as others do. Whatever they do in the foolish thought that they are following the true good, he does from another principle, that as the probabilities (vraisemblances) are equally on one side and the other, so

the most celebrated sects of the world, who profess to follow reason rather than revelation. We must follow one or other. Eith

ing his corruption, has treated human nature as if it were whole, without any need of a Redeemer-this leads to the height of pride; the other, sensible of man's present misery, and

in a right manner, "by a divine art." It brings together the opposites, and explains, by a wondrous, truly heavenly way, how they may coexist, not as attributes of the same subject, as systems of human philosophy have made them, but as different e

ature and of Divine revelation. He recurs over and over again to the same idea, that man is great and yet weak, full of capacity and yet miserable, and

ite of all the miseries which cleave to us, and hold us, as it were, by the throat (nous tiennent à la gorge), there is within us an irrepressible instinct which exalts us. The greatness of man is so visible that it may be deduced from his very misery. His very miseries prov

same line of thought, as in t

main degraded, but that he may rise to greatness. He needs to feel within him the emotion of greatness,-not of merit, however, but of grace. . . . Two sects have sprung out of this conflict between reason and sense in man. The one, in renouncing passion, has aspired to divinity; the other, in renouncing reason, has sunk to mere brutality. . . . The principles of the re

sage was origi

olating nature; we cannot be Dogmati

ect we soon cross the limit of our powers. But Humanity is more than either sense or intellect. There is, as he believes, a primitive endowment of spiritual instinct in man, which looks forth upon a higher world of reality. Repeatedly, and in various applications, he recurs to these three radical sides or elements of Humanity; "the sensible-the intellectual, or the exercise of reason left to itself-and the spiritual or divine." Pascal despairs of a philosophy which is either a mere generalisation of sensible experience, or which aims at demonstrating everything from a purely rational point of view; but he is so far from resting in mere intellectual doubt, that he tries to find a ground for human certitude in a deeper stratum of Humanity than either sense or what he calls "reason." Neander and others have vindicated

, as they pretend. Nay, our knowledge of first principles, such as the ideas of space, time, motion, number, is as certain as any obtained by reasoning. It is, in fact, upon such conclusions of feeling and instinct that Reason must ultimately rest and base all its arguments. We feel that there are three dimensions in space, and that numbers are infinite; and reason hence demonstrates that there are no two square numbers the one of which is double the other. Principles are felt, propositions deduced, and both wit

not with Montaigne, but he is clearly against him. The rights of nature, as he says, rise up against the Pyrrhonist. They make themselves good. And however strongly Pascal may draw the picture of human weakness, and all the contrarieties which our nature encloses, he does not mean by this to strike at the roots of all knowledge, and leave man a prey to helpless doubt. He means merely to shake the throne of rational security, and to show that no conclusions of mere

created things-but one possessing thought (un roseau pensant). It needs not that the universe should arm itself to crush him. A breath, a drop of water, suffices for his destruction. But were the

ricism? It is never that he may laugh at man, or that he may rest in the mere contemplation of his follies or extravagances, but because he himself profoundly realised the height and the depth of his being-the grandeur to which he could rise, or to which God could raise him, and the baseness and miseries to which he could sink. Doubtless, as with all concentrated and meditative natures, Pascal delights to dwell on the weaker and gloomier side of humanity. This was partly the result of his Jansenist leanings, but mainly it came from his own intense reality of feeling. It was bred of his austere sadness of heart, and is found to run as a note of profou

n strong in the assertion of faith's claims, is yet in certain moments utterly distracted by doubt. Constantly searching the foundations of human knowledge,-sifting them as with lighted glance,-they seemed to him at times to crumble away before him. Nothing remained fixed to his piercing look. As few minds have experienced, he felt the awful darkness which encloses all mortal aspiration, and the keenest audacities of human speculation. The incapacities of human reason at such times overwhelmed him, and left him hopeless, or, still worse, in a half-derisive mood. A

And yet it is this last which Pascal has put forward with such prominence in this famous essay. "Wager," he says. "If you win, you win everything; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation, that God exists. . . . On one side is an eternity of life, of infinite blessedness to be gained, and what you stake is finite. . . . Our proposition is, that the finite is to be vested in a wager, in which there is an equal chance of gain and loss, and infinitude to gain." The play was hardly worthy of Pascal, and the 'mystery of the game' could certainly never be unravelled in any such way. But not a few minds like Pascal's-with deep spiritual intuitions and yet a craving for scientific certainty constantly mocking these intuitions-have felt in a simila

h an analysis of human nature, and to advance from the contemplation of its mysteries, obscurities, and perplexities, to the consideration of the various methods, philosophical and religious, by which reason had endeavoured to meet the difficulties of thought and life. After explaining the inconclusiveness and absurdities of these methods-represented by the diverse philosophies and religions of the world-he was to call attention to the Jewish religion, and the superiority which it presents to all others, both in the extraordinary circumstances of its history, and in the revelation which it gives of one God, Cr

h he is represented as having studied deeply, and certain views of which, "of a nature wholly original," he explained with great clearness. Finally, "after going through the books of the Old Testament," he advanced to those of the New, "and deduced from them his crowning proofs of the truths of the Gospel." He began with Christ, whose divine mission he already supposed to be established by the argument from pro

reward our study in comparison with those of a more introductory and philosophical nature. Pascal's genius was in no degree historical, and but slightly critical-not to mention that the very idea of historical criticism had not emerged in his time, nor long afterwards. While realising so profoundly the perplexities of human experience, he has no conception of the difficulties that beset historical tradition; nor do his habits of s

rk of the 'Pensées,' and the only one for which Pascal's mind pre-eminently fitted him. He sees in the Gospel a Divine Power which is capable of ministering to man's higher wants-a power of infinite compassion towards human weakness and misery, of infinite help for the one and remedy for the other. The Christian religion, according to him, alone "understands at once man's greatness and degradation, and the reason of both the one and the other." "It is equally important for man to know his capacity of being like God and his unworthiness of Him. To know of God without knowing his misery, or to know his misery without knowing the Redeemer, who alone can deliver him from it, is alike dangerous. The one knowledge constitutes the p

s and Academicians, etc. The Christian religion alone can reconcile these discrepancies and cure both evils, not by expelling the one by the other, according to the wisdom of this world, but by expelling both the one and the other by the simplicity of the Gospel. For it teaches the just that while it elevates them even to be partakers of the divine nature, they still carry with them in this lofty state the source of all their corruption, making them during life subjects of error, misery, death, and sin. At the same time, it proclaims to the most impious that they are capable of becoming partakers of a Redeemer's grace. By thus warning those whom it justifies, and consoling those whom it condemns, it tempers with just measure fear and hope, through the twofold c

on the surface; mere traditionalism has but a slight hold of him. He is a Christian not because he has been taught Christianity, or because the Church as a divine institution claims his allegiance. All these influences may have affected him, and given a turn to his mind; but they do not touch the essence of his thoughts. Anything he does say of the external claims of Christianity has but little weight. It is out of the depths of his own spiritual experience that his faith is born. It is a voice within him, a conflicting cry of weakness and aspiration going up everywhere from humanity, that find their answer in Christ. There is the enigma of man on the one side, to him otherwise hopeless, and Christ on the other, holding the keys of the enigma in His hand. The solution appeared to him perfect, according to his study and analysis of the problem-the twofoldness that he found in man, of divin

one answers to all man's necessities. Christ has not only proclaimed a higher truth to man, which man is bound to accept under penalties of default. This tone is also found sometimes, but comparatively seldom. The prevailing note is, that there is an admirable fitness between the two-the mysteries of human nature witnessing to the divine veracity of the Gospel, and the Gospel again holding the only key to these mysteries, and the only

ar as this can be traced. Wherever he trusts to his own clear judgment and profound penetration, he throws out sentences weighty with meaning, and capable of being expand

man, 'You follow a wrong one.' He shows that there is another, but he

e cost Him little thought-and yet so fitly that we see well what His

ived or deceivers; either supp

rn, or to be raised from the dead? Is it less difficult to come into being than to return to being? Custom (experience

t know how to describe a death of fortitude? Assuredly; for it is the same St Luke paints St Stephen's death as so much braver than that of Jesus Christ. They have made Him capable

to recognise that there is an infini

nothing mysterious or supernatural. If we violate the prin

s-to exclude reason, a

voice of your own reason, and not that

ule of faith, the ancie

t is because you were born in it,' they say. So far from this, I am on my guard against it on this very accou

. It is of its very nature that it cannot be forced on any mind. The God of the Gospel can only be reached by faith. To all without faith, or the inner eye to see Him, He i

als Himself to those who are willing to be His servants. . . . All things hide a mystery. All are a veil which conceal God. The Christian must recognise Him in all. . . . There is light enough for those

t, the fault and the misery were its own. The divine light was not gone because men did not see it, when they were not willing to see it. This may seem a hard saying,-a paradox of faith rejoicing in its own illumination, rather than an utterance of reason challenging the world. But can a divin

it down from heaven to earth. And certainly there is the breathing movement as of a human heart through his whole writings. More than anything else, it is this vitality combined with his exquisite literary art which sets him above all his friends and contemporaries-Arnauld, De Saci, Le Maitre, Nicole, or Fontaine. Still, when we read the 'Provincial Letters' or the 'Pensées,' we feel ourselves in communion with a living writer who knew how to light up with an imm

of p

TE

eline, S?urs de Pascal, et de Marguerite Périer, sa nièce; publi

or Cousin. Troisième éd. 1856. Lélu

ort Royal, gives an excellent sketch of Blaise and Jacqueline Pascal, in which

uarterly Revie

as offshoots of the latter, and subordinate to its supreme direction. They possessed no lawful political powers. Lalanne, Dictionnaire Historique, Art. "Parl.," p. 1421. The "Court of Aides," accordin

626. Marguerite Périer, her daughter, Pascal's niece, says 1628. Cousi

Jacqueline

adds Cousin, "that this portrait is embellished: the austere Marguerite flatters no one; and if

e two interior and opposite angles; and the three int

de Descartes, li

1

ez pas, incomp

tenté vos yeux

té de frayeurs

corps et voix

ndre ici capabl

'exil mon mis

acqueline Pasc

ioner, sent into the provinces to watch over t

, Jacqueline Pa

Pascal's highly-strung nervous constitution, in connection both with the precocity of his genius, his physical sufferings, his religious susceptibility, and the profo

Périer, Vi

ad been bishop of Bellay or Belley, but had at this ti

at Paris, having been given by Marguerite Périer to one of the Guerrier family, by whose care so man

ousin,

me of the facts mentioned by Pascal's sister and niece. But a special accession of ill-health, according to both, s

Pp. 13

ueline Pas

Blaise Pascal, t

ish Review, Augu

chine of M. Scheutz has been employed in the production of many valuable tables almost hopelessly beyond the power of mere mental calculation;" and

o M. Ribeyre,

an was then advanced in yea

s, t. iv.

David's account is almost literally translated from M. Périer's letter to Pascal, of date September 22, 1648,

Jacqueline P

"M. Habert de Montmor, the M?c

ace de la nouvelle éd.,

faciendi, eumque certum reddiderim, nec de successu non dubitare, quamquam id experimentum nunquam fecerim. Verum quoniam D. R. amicitia ju

a Vie et les Ouvrage

er may consult Montucla, Histoire des Mathématiques, vol. vi. p. 205. Mont

des Liqueurs. ?uvres, t. iv. p. 301-"Je méditai des

, eumque pulchri successus certum reddidi, quod esset omnino conforme meis Principiis, ab

article "Vacuum," Ch

libre des Liqueurs,' and 'De la Pesanteur de l'Air,' supposed to have bee

1844. Sir David in the main trans

res, t. i

e, Lettres,

ie de

Vie de Jacqu

Ibid.,

cal, app. v

e de Ja

's Jacqueli

's Jacqueli

al, 10 Juin 1653-a long narrative, extending to about 50 pages of Cousin

la S?ur Jacqueli

Ibid.,

Ibid.,

ire, Faugè

ine Pascal,

oom at the Duc de Roannez's, and that he stayed there f

witty, and dissolute, they brought into public affairs their frivolous ideas, and sacrificed to their vanity their honour an

élut,

éd. de M. Faugè

id., t.

gère, Int

se Pascal,

se Pascal,

od. to Ed.

ain commun du monde, c'est-à-dire de prend

alluded to, which has given rise to a good deal

acqueline Pasc

ine, vol.

Port Royal, vol

cht, quoted by Mayn

9

e grac

St Clément, pape et marty

hrysogone, mar

s et demie du soir jusqu

e

, Dieu d'Isaac

losophes et

tude. Sentiment.

e Jésu

m et Deu

u sera

de et de tou

par les voies enseig

de l'am

ne t'a point connu,

joie, pleu

n suis

nt me fonte

me quitte

is pas séparé

éternelle qu'ils

elui que tu as

s Ch

s Ch

ré; je l'ai fui,

n sois jam

par les voies enseig

ion total

t

, "Certitude, joie, certit

two friends of the Pascal family, M. Arnoul de St Victor and M. le Pierre de Barillon. The evidence for the story of the abyss is not even con

quoted by Sainte-Be

t. ii. p 76,

Utrecht, Maynard

ound amongst the papers of M. Domat, an eminent advocate, and one of Pascal's well-known friends. It bears below an inscription by Domat's son-"Port

oyalism as a theological system: "Paulus genuit Augustinum; Augustinus Calvinum; Calvinus Jansenium; Jansenius

ute emotions of the grace of repentance. "Contrition" d

Augustinus: seu doctrina S. Augustini de human? natur? sanitat

Port Royal,

, p. 271. See also Saint

ense, says Sainte-Beuve

h Jesuit (1535–1600), whose "Scientia Media," akin to the Armini

271. Founded on Recueil d'Utrecht, p.

ay be said to connect itself with these rather than with the intervening series assailing the Jesuits. There were eighteen Letters in all published by Pascal, but there is a bri

tants were permitted to assemble for worship at Ch

] Let

rmant say (Letter VI.), "is for the good of religion, never to repulse

Lett

Lett

] Let

rs." This book, which Pascal says he "read twice through," was the great repository from which he gathered the details of Jesuit doctrine which he exposes with such minuteness. Escobar, like so many of the c

] Let

b] I

Lett

t (t. iii. p. 138), repeated by Mr Be

aration for which he is said to have read repeatedly over all the plays of

y the writer of the present volume, in Kitto's J

ires de Littératu

ère, i. pp

ère, i. pp

See

es Diverses.-Faugère's e

timate friends, the excitement spread on every side, and the solitude, in the hours of social intercourse, resounded with these discussions. There was hardly a solitary who did not talk of 'automata.' To beat a dog was no longer a matter of any moment. The stick was laid on with the utmost indifference, and a great fool was made of those who pitied the animals, as if they had any feeling. They said they were only clockwork, and that the cries they uttered when they were beaten were no more than th

sur la Philosop

, i. pp. cx

ère, ii. p

, ii. pp. 91,

augère,

augère,

ère, ii. p

ost Paradol, études sur