SECTION III
 
	 
	   OF THE NECESSITY OF THE WAGER
 
 
	184. A letter to incite to the search after God.
 
	And then to make people seek Him among the philosophers, sceptics,
 and dogmatists, who disquiet him who inquires of them.
 
	185. 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; terorrem potius quam
 religionem.*
 
 
	* "Terror which is more powerful than religion."
 
 
	186. Nisi terrerentur et non docerentur, improba quasi dominatio
 videretur (St. Augustine, Epistle 48 or 49),* Contra Mendacium ad
 Consentium.
 
 
	* "From fear that they are being led by terror, without
 guidance, domination appears tyrannical."
 
 
	187. Order.- 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.
 
	Venerable, because it has perfect knowledge of man; lovable
 because it promises the true good.
 
	188. In every dialogue and discourse, we must be able to say to
 those who take offence, "Of what do you complain?"
 
	189. 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.
 
	190. To pity atheists who seek, for are they not unhappy enough?
 To inveigh against those who make a boast of it.
 
	191. 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.
 
	192. To reproach Milton with not being troubled, since God will
 reproach him.
 
	193. Quid fiet hominibus qui minima contemnunt, majora non
 credunt?*
 
 
	* "What will become of men who mistake small things and do not
 believe in greater?"
 
 
	194. ... 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, Deus absconditus;* 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?
 
 
	* Is. 45. 15. "Thou art a God that hidest thyself."
 
 
	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 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 priests 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.
 
	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.
 
	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.
 
	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 occupation.
 
	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.
 
	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.
 
	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.
 
	There is nothing more real than this, nothing more terrible. Be we
 as heroic as we like, that is the end which awaits 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 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 judgement,
 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 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 of the importance of
 this subject without being horrified at conduct so extravagant?
 
	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 are and
 without seeking enlightenment. "I know not," they say...
 
	196. Men lack heart; they would not make a friend of it.
 
	197. To be insensible to the extent of despising interesting
 things, and to become insensible to the point which interests us most.
 
	198. The sensibility of man to trifles, and his insensibility to
 great things, indicates a strange inversion.
 
	199. 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.
 
	200. 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 knew 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.
 
	Thus not only the zeal of those who seek Him proves God, but
 also the blindness of those who seek Him not.
 
	201. All the objections of this one and that one only go against
 themselves, and not against religion. All that infidels say ...
 
	202. 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.
 
	203. Fascinatio nugacitatis.* - That passion may not harm us,
 let us act as if we had only eight hours to live.
 
 
	* Wisd. of Sol. 4. 12. "Bewitching of naughtiness."
 
 
	204. If we ought to devote eight hours of life, we ought to devote
 a hundred years.
 
	205. 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? Memoria hospitis unius diei praetereuntis.*
 
 
	* Wisd. of Sol. 5. 15. "The remembrance of a guest that tarrieth
 but a day."
 
 
	206. The eternal silence of these infinite spaces frightens me.
 
	207. How many kingdoms know us not!
 
	208. 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?
 
	209. 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.
 
	210. 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.
 
	211. 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; 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.
 
	212. Instability.- It is a horrible thing to feel all that we
 possess slipping away.
 
	213. Between us and heaven or hell there is only life, which is
 the frailest thing in the world.
 
	214. Injustice.- That presumption should be joined to meanness
 is extreme injustice.
 
	215. To fear death without danger, and not in danger, for one must
 be a man.
 
	216. Sudden death alone is feared; hence confessors stay with
 lords.
 
	217. An heir finds the title-deeds of his house. Will he say,
 "Perhaps they are forged" and neglect to examine them?
 
	218. Dungeon.- 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.
 
	219. 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.
 
	Plato, to incline to Christianity.
 
	220. The fallacy of philosophers who have not discussed the
 immortality of the soul. The fallacy of their dilemma in Montaigne.
 
	221. Atheists ought to say what is perfectly evident; now it is
 not perfectly evident that the soul is material.
 
	222. Atheists.- 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!
 
	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?
 
	223. 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?
 
	224. 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?
 
	225. Atheism shows strength of mind, but only to a certain degree.
 
	226. 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?)
 
	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 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.
 
	 227. Order by dialogues.- What ought I to do? I see only darkness
 everywhere. Shall I believe I am nothing? Shall I believe I am God?
 
	"All things change and succeed each other." You are mistaken;
 there is...
 
	228. Objection of atheists: "But we have no light."
 
	229. 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 times 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.
 
	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.
 
	230. 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 world
 should be created, and that it should not be created, etc.; that
 original sin should be, and that it should not be.
 
	231. 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.
 
	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.
 
	232. Infinite movement, the point which fills everything, the
 moment of rest; infinite without quantity, indivisible and infinite.
 
	233. Infinite- nothing.- Our soul is cast into a body, where it
 finds number, dimension. Thereupon it reasons, and calls this nature
 necessity, and can believe nothing else.
 
	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.
 
	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.
 
	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?
 
	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.
 
	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.
 
	Let us now speak according to natural lights.
 
	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.
 
	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, stultitiam;* 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.
 
 
	* I Cor. 1. 21.
 
 
	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."
 
	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, 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; where-ever 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.
 
	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
 certainly of what is staked and the uncertainty 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 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.
 
	"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?"
 
	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?
 
	But to show you that this leads you there, it is this which will
 lessen the passions, which are your stumbling-blocks.
 
	The end of this discourse.- Now, what harm will befall you in
 taking this side? You will be faithful, 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.
 
	"Ah! This discourse transports me, charms me," etc.
 
	If this discourse pleases you and seems impressive, know 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.
 
	234. 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.
 
	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.
 
	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.
 
	235. Rem viderunt, causam non viderunt.*
 
 
	* "They have seen the thing; they have not seen the cause." St.
 Augustine, Contra Pelagium, iv.
 
 
	236. 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 signs of
 His will." He has done so; but you neglect them. Seek them, therefore;
 it is well worth it.
 
	237. Chances.- 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.
 
	238. 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?
 
	239. Objection.- Those who hope for salvation are so far happy;
 but they have as a counterpoise the fear of hell.
 
	Reply.- 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?
 
	240. "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.
 
	241. Order.- 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.