It is impossible, and would be useless, for us to attempt any description of the whole series of Letters. We have thought it right to dwell at some length on the first two, because they enter so directly into the controversy betwixt Pascal’s friends and the Sorbonne, and because they are really, in some respects, the cleverest, if not the most valuable. The third Letter, on the “Censure of M. Arnauld,” and again, the three concluding Letters, [133] are closely connected with the first two. Their object, in one form or another, is the defence of the Jansenist doctrine, and of the Port Royalists, as its supporters. The intervening twelve Letters stand quite by themselves. They open up the whole subject of the moral theology of the Jesuits, and constitute the most powerful assault probably ever directed against it. The subject is one
which, in a volume like this, we can only touch upon, and this more with the view of drawing out the marked literary features of Pascal’s assault, than of meddling with the merits of the controversy which he waged so relentlessly. In the meantime, we must wind up, as briefly as possible, the more personal aspects of the controversy.
Between the date of the second and the third Letter, the process before the Sorbonne had been finished, and M. Arnauld’s censure pronounced. The third Letter deals with this censure. The writer represents the long preparation for it, the manner in which the Jansenists had been denounced as the vilest of heretics, “the cabals, factions, errors, schisms, and outrages with which they have been so long charged.” Who would not have thought, in such circumstances, that the “blackest heresy imaginable” would have come forth under the condemning touch of the Sorbonne? All Christendom waited for the result. It was true that M. Arnauld had backed up his opinions by the clearest quotations from the Fathers, expressing apparently the very things with which he had been charged. But points of difference imperceptible to ordinary eyes would no doubt be made clear under the penetration of so many learned doctors. Thoughts of this kind kept everybody in a state of breathless suspense waiting for the result. “But, alas! how has the expectation been balked! Whether the Molinist doctors have not deigned to lower themselves to the level of instructing us, or for some other secret reason, they have done nothing else than pronounce the following words: ‘This proposition is rash, impious, blasphemous, deserving of anathema, and heretical!’”
It was not to be wondered at, in the circumstances, that people were in a bad humour, and were beginning to think that after all there may have been no real heresy in M. Arnauld’s proposition. A heresy which could not be defined, except in general terms of abuse, seemed at the least doubtful. The writer is puzzled, as usual, and has recourse to “one of the most intelligent of the Sorbonnists” who had been so far neutral in the discussion, and whom he asks to point out the difference betwixt M. Arnauld and the Fathers. The “intelligent” Sorbonnist is amused at the naïveté of the inquiry. “Do you fancy,” he says, “that if they could have found any difference they would not have pointed it out?” But why, then, pursues the ingenuous inquirer, should they in such a case pass censure?—
“‘How little you understand the tactics of the Jesuits!’ is the answer. ‘How few will ever look into the matter beyond the fact that M. Arnauld is condemned! Let it be only cried in the streets, “Here is the condemnation of M. Arnauld!” This is enough to give the Jesuits a triumph with the unthinking populace. This is the way in which they live and prosper. Now it is by a catechism in which a child is made to condemn their opponents; now by a procession, in which Sufficient Grace leads Efficacious Grace in triumph; and by-and-by by a comedy, in which the devils carry off Jansen; sometimes by an almanac; and now by this censure.’ The truth is, that it is M. Arnauld himself, and not merely his opinions, that are obnoxious. Even M. le Moine himself admitted ‘that the same proposition would have been orthodox in the mouth of any other; it is only as coming from M. Arnauld that the Sorbonne have condemned it.’ . . . Here is a new species of heresy,” concludes the writer. “It is not the sentiments of M. Arnauld that are heretical, but only his person. It is a case of personal heresy. He is not a heretic for anything he has said or written, but simply because he is M. Arnauld. This is all they can say against him. Whatever he may do, unless he cease to exist he will never be a good Catholic. The grace of St Augustine will never be the true grace while he defends it. It would be all right were he only to combat it. This would be a sure stroke, and almost the only means of establishing it and destroying Molinism. Such is the fatality of any opinions which he embraces.”
In the three concluding Letters, as we have said, Pascal reverts to the special subject of Jansenism and Port Royal. These Letters are considerably longer than the opening ones. It is of the sixteenth, in fact, that he makes the well-known remark, that “it was very long because he had no time to make it shorter.” Upon the whole, also, these Letters are less happy in style and manner. It is evident that Pascal, if he gave blows which made his opponents and the opponents of Port Royal wince, also received some bruises in return. The shamelessness of the attacks made upon his friends and himself, contemptible as they were in their nature, left scars upon a mind and temper so sensitive and reserved as his. The “insufferable audacity” with which “holy nuns and their directors” had been charged with disbelieving the mysteries of the faith was “a crime which God alone was capable of punishing.” To bear such a charge required a degree of humility equal to that of the nuns themselves—to believe it, “a degree of wickedness equal to that of their wretched defamers.” As for himself, it seemed enough to say of him that he belonged to Port Royal, as if it were only at Port Royal that there could be found those capable of defending the purity of Christian morality. He knew and honoured the work
of the pious recluses who had retired to that monastery, although “he had never had the honour of belonging to them.” And in the seventeenth Letter he says:—
“I have no more to say than that I am not a member of that community, and to refer you to my letters, in which I have declared that ‘I am a private individual;’ and again in so many words that ‘I am not of Port Royal.’ . . . You may touch Port Royal if you choose, but you shall not touch me. You may turn people out of the Sorbonne, but that will not turn me out of my lodging.”
These statements, of course, are to be received as so far a part of the disguise under which Pascal pursued his task. It was true that he had no official connection with Port Royal, that he was under no rule to live in its retirements, and that he was only occasionally found there. He was singularly free, “without engagements, entanglement, relationship, or business of any kind.” All the same he was a Port Royalist in sympathy and community of opinion. The interests of Port Royal were his interests, and its friends his friends. His own sister was one of its zealous inmates. There is a certain force, therefore, in the taunt that Pascal, in “unmasking the duplicity of the Jesuits, did not hesitate to imitate it.” His statements are not beyond the licence accorded to those who would drive an enemy off the scent, and shelter themselves within an anonymity which they have chosen to assume; but they are none the less artful and misleading. They justify themselves as the fence of the littérateur, hardly as the armour of the moralist. But the truth is, that long before this Pascal had warmed to his work as a controversialist. He was determined to give no advantage, and to spare no weapons
within the bounds of decency, that might make the Jesuits feel the force of his assault. Their accusation of heresy especially exasperated him.